


winter wheat

by niente



Series: winter wheat [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Catharsis, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Post canon, Unreliable Narrator, alternating pov, author is sad gritty could not be worked in somehow, frequent mentions of metaphorical and literal boxes, incredibly vague allegories to virtuemoir, lots of talks about feelings, media fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 84,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niente/pseuds/niente
Summary: The Aces don't want Jack Zimmermann.Never have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m blatantly stealing my own fic format and repurposing into a different fandom because I really have no idea how to write anything else anymore. All users and opinions are completely fictitious and generally completely flanderized. Any usage of existing media accounts are done in a completely fictitious way and in no way represents the actual accounts that may exist with the same or similar handles.
> 
> This fic relies on three very important assumptions I made. 1: the tweet (https://twitter.com/ngoziu/status/550095708791918592) where it’s heavily implied that Jack’s overdose occurred after the draft. 2: Year 2.16 “Kiss the Ice” in which the guys wants to know what happened at the Draft, implying Jack was there. 3: That Jack may be lying to himself in 3.7 in terms of what his relationship with Kent meant when they were teenagers, due to implication from extras of that their relationship may have been more (though not to the degree to what Kent felt it was).
> 
> Also only the first set of tweets will have dates because they are important for context and following that they will not because it’s a lot of work to maintain a timeline.
> 
> Disclaimer: Check, Please! belongs to and is written by Ngozi who has graciously allowed us use her characters and world. These characters do not belong to me and I am not profiting off this story.
> 
> Finally: Reformatting this, as I pasted this into AO3, has been literal hell so I'm sorry for any formatting issues. I'm trying my best to find and fix them all, LibreOffice struggles with spacing and when I copy and paste into AO3 often places with italics, bold, or underline get affected.
> 
> 14/01/19 - now with minor detail edits for the LVA ensemble!

 

**\- UNTITLED KENT PARSON AUTOBIOGRAPHY EXCERPT (2035) -**

**(CHAPTER: THE 2018-2019 SEASON (pt I), _HOUSE OF CARDS)_**  

It all started with rumours. Just tiny little whispers in the locker room here and there. Mostly the rookies who didn’t know to keep their mouths shut. Us vets knew better. It was a good way to get a rough practice or benched or even scratched. They had eyes and ears everywhere we later learned. The rookies picked up on it quickly enough either from a sharp look or the punishment they endured. It worked well to quell the rumours, since it everyone thought there was just a strict policy on gossip. As if a thing existed. 

The rumours became allegations all too fast; real and tangible. Someone, somewhere, made a mistake. A carefully curated empire came toppling to the ground in the matter of hours. It almost went to the top, through the Front Offices, the coaching staff, and beyond. At its very heart was the Aces’ general manager, the one directly responsible for drafting me. It was corruption through and through. It was only a matter of time until there was an investigation, possibly even criminal charges. The bastards deserve to rot in federal prison. They betrayed everyone who put their faith in them. 

But it was Vegas. Sin City. Outsiders don’t see it as a place where people live, grow up and just have normal, everyday lives. I learned the locals would defend this place to their last breath. I would too, after a few months of living there. It was the only place that ever welcomed me so warmly. The very act of existing in Vegas was seen as having a high susceptibility for corruption. People, in the Show and out, called it inevitable. That the Aces were torn down by their own hubris and greed.

Sure the gambling debts, and money laundering weren't related much to the game, but it wouldn’t be fair to let those involved just walk away from the mess. The money, when it was there, was used for bribery. Mostly for players, playing around with free agency. Have someone turn a blind eye when a player became available through waivers. A ref or two was paid off to turn a blind eye. But the debts accumulated and soon the hole became too deep to hide. Someone got scared and someone else fucked up. Everything came toppling down like a house of cards. The press was fond of that allegory.

Each act was done infrequently, so it wasn’t obvious. The team wasn’t stacked in a single season. Rather carefully created through years of surreptitious, backhanded dealings. In some twisted way, it was a normal team development. Years of picking players and honing their talents.

The 2017-18 season had ended. Capitals won (finally). We lost to the Jets in a disappointing game seven. It looked like we would easily sweep them after game 4. The Jets then were a young team and couldn’t handle the weight of playoffs, but still managed to rally. They were easily taken care of by Ovi and the Capitals in the finals. Most of my teammates felt pretty vindicated by that loss. Singing in the bar as we watched them lose. I’ll admit I took a shot in celebration.

And like that the season was over. The next couple of months would be quiet. Enjoy the time off. Some got bored, some enjoyed the freedom. I liked to fall off the radar, forget about the world.

So to fill the time between the Draft and the new season, Vegas had a crisis. What better way to fill the void of hockey than with a scandal? The press had a damn field day. An official spoke up about an attempted bribery earlier in the season. One of the middlemen didn’t correctly shuffle the funds around and a regular accountant discovered the books didn’t balance. It was leaked in a matter of hours because everyone was jumping ship – afraid of what might happen to them. I remember finding out secondhand, but that wasn’t unique in the slightest. So many people were involved, there was no real chain for the information to get to the team.

In two weeks’ time, most of the upper management was fired. It took the better part of the summer to fill all the positions. But those canned by the organization were angry and loose lipped. Once one them talked, they all joined in like a chorus of cowardly frogs. Revealing every dirty secret the Aces had. The Aces’ ship was sinking and everyone was jumping overboard. I was left aboard alone and I couldn’t patch the holes fast enough.

 

XXXXX

 

**The Las Vegas Ace? Kent Parson’s ‘Bought’ Stanley Cups**

_E. Radford | 7:54 pm | June 16 2018 | ESPN | @espnradford_

With the 2018 Draft only a handful of days away and the Capitals’ well-deserved Stanley Cup win behind us, hockey fans thought the only headlines they needed to watch out for were Ovechkin’s Cup shenanigans. Barely two weeks following the end of the season, the Capitals’ win is usurped. It’s not often a scandal of this magnitude emerges, especially this quickly. The cat’s out of the bag: more than half of the Las Vegas Aces’ Front Offices – including the GM, Mark Hopkins, and associate coach, Lloyd Dressler – are embroiled in a gambling and bribery ring.

Since the news broke around noon today, every news outlet and social media page has been alight. It’s hard to even call what happened accusations since the situation evolved from an intern’s unsubstantiated claim and an easy math error to hard proof and a list of names and how they were involved almost immediately. How did this happen under owner Russell Redford’s nose? However, that’s not the real question on everyone’s lips. Log on to Twitter and just look through the tweets. You’ll easily find it.

Were Kent Parson’s wins bought for him? We’ve all watched his rise to glory. Drafted First Overall by the Las Vegas Aces, a struggling expansion team, in 2009, he was quickly dubbed the Las Vegas Ace. From his first game, Kent Parson was a star – a sure-thing for the Calder. Las Vegas quickly locked him down with the best and longest contract they could offer. The thing was, the Aces were a mediocre team with few players to back up Parson’s skill. Something had to be done to entice Parson to stay because he’s said it in the past: he plays to win. A few acquisitions needed to be made.

A few seasons in, Parson’s made the captain. The line up doesn’t change too dramatically. There’s little alterations here and there. The team morphs around Parson, molds itself perfectly to his play style and leadership. It’s not unusual for this to happen – look at the Oilers – but what follows is what begs the question.

In 2012, Parson and the Aces win the Cup. And the Conn Smythe. Fast forward to 2018, another Cup and Conn Smythe, a handful of Art Rosses, back to back Hart Trophies, and a heavy reputation. It happened so fast. The Aces are strong now. The team has had an incredible turnover from flop to a team that causes any opponent to think twice.

Personally, Parson deserves to win. He’s talented, he’s fast, and hell of a leader. Already in the past eight hours we’ve seen calls to strip the Aces of their wins, of Kent Parson of his awards. Should Parson lose everything for decisions that were unknown to him? Or should we let him keep them and see what the future brings for the Aces? Did Parson really shape the team that much with his arrival or was there a greater, more malicious, power at play?

 

_ Read Comments (156) _

 

XXXXX

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

Read owner Russell Redford’s statement on today’s events here:  _bit.ly/jf4..._

  _June 16, 2018 11:54:23 pm_

 

  **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

 Effective immediately LVA GM Mark Hopkins and Asst GM Sydney Houghton have been relieved of their positions with the Aces franchise _bit.ly/rf5..._

  _June 17, 2018_ _12_ _:23:56 am_

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** _@_ _NHLaces _

Russell Redford will hold a live press conference at 12 noon PST  _bit.ly/7tg..._

  _June 17, 2018 8:00:04 am_

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** _@_ _NHLaces _

A full list of the Aces’ staff changes and a full transcript of Mr. Redford’s press conference can be found here: _bit.ly_ / _tf2..._

 _June 17, 2018 4:45:34_ _p_ _m_

  

XXXXX

 

Kent tries to keep his head down during the shit storm. He already has to deal with the press enough. They’ve always been quick to write him off. From his time in the Q where he was always the _second_ half of Zimmermann & Parson to the NHL Draft where he was treated like a pariah for ‘stealing’ Jack’s spot. It continues in his record-breaking career. Fans and critics alike are calling Kent’s talent and wins bought goods. He’d like to meet them out on the rink to prove them wrong.

He should’ve known better now that he’s become the centre of the storm. It feels like it always ends up this way. With someone bending over backwards to blame Kent.

Following the Aces’ disappointing loss to the Jets in the Conference Final, Kent retreated to the East Coast. He rented the usual secluded beach house and planned on mourning the season by himself. He hung around long enough to commiserate the season with the other Aces and get raucously drunk at some bar, crowing out as the Jets lose in Game Five to the Capitals. Kent told Swoops not to burn down his apartment and warned him about cleaning out the fridge if he planned on heading home. Then, finally, he scooped Kit into a carrier and flees to Florida. 

Not that Kent is trying to hide from anyone _per say_ , but it’s been a rough season. He had a minor injury in the preseason that took him out for a majority of the start of the season (he played _one game_ in September and got injured. Fan-fucking-tastic). The Aces lost game after game and only took a wild card place in the Playoffs because of it. Then he was named captain of the Pacific Division for the All-Star game while Jack _fucking_ Zimmermann was made captain of the Atlantic Division.

The press hounded him on that one too. Kent hasn’t spoken to Jack since that ill-fated confrontation back at Samwell in 2014. A few weeks afterwards, when Kent had his head screwed on right, he left Jack a voicemail apologizing for his behaviour. Jack never responded. Now it’s midway through 2018 and they haven’t had any sort of communication. They don’t even glare at each other on the ice anymore. They’re just two players. 

After much thought, Kent decided it’s only right to allow Jack to make the first move. He was the one most hurt by everything. Kent’s harsh words and actions cut into Jack. The ball is in Jack’s court. Kent lost any right to Jack's friendship. Pushing himself back into Jack’s life only caused more problems; increasing the tension between them. If Jack wants to reach out, Kent would be thrilled – over the moon. However, if he chooses to forever keep his distance, Kent won’t begrudge him.

But the press didn’t know that when Kent and Jack’s divisions went head to head in the All-Star Game final. Jack won, barely. Kent didn’t flee the ice like the first game they played against each other in 2015 or the first game the Aces lost to the Falconers. He waited for a ‘good game.’ He and Jack met at the end of the line to shake hands, Jack avoided his eyes and Kent didn’t care. He and Jack have been strangers longer than they’ve were inseparable. 

No one caught Kent's strategic placement on the ice during the Skills Challenges, insulated by other players and away from Jack. There’s no new story on everyone’s lips at the next Aces-Falconers’ game about Jack and Kent’s bad blood. Just the regular stuff. Kent hates it. Could he for once play a hockey game and not have it inexorably tied back to those years in the Q? It’s sucking him dry to keep up this image that he and Jack are okay and there isn’t years of silence, unanswered texts, harsh words, and harsher voicemails between them? But PR wants a fairytale and Kent doesn’t want to hurt his reputation.

No one ever catches the missed looks.

He’s never been a media darling, but he likes being liked. The media enjoys it when he’s charismatic and plasters a smile on his face. He's not wooden like the majority of other players and has an easy, natural charm. They hate is when he ignores them, which is more often than not. In turn, it leads reporters to read deeply into his little public fuck-ups.

Being in a rivalry with the comeback story of the century and first openly bisexual NHL player Jack Zimmermann is the easiest way to get yourself hated. At best it will fulfill the narrative Jack and Kent were not so in sync in the Q as was reported and were instead intense rivals. At worst, Kent would be labelled a homophobe and made a pariah by more liberal fans and players, and held up as an icon by the conservative NHL (neither outcome is desirable, in fact both actually make Kent physically ill for obvious reasons. Though, he's likely not the only member of the Closeted Professional Athletes Club).

And now Troy has officially announced his retirement. Although Kent has known for awhile, they were still playing. It had been a weird night. Troy pulled him aside after practice, asking Kent to dinner. A normal occurrence, but Kent had been made wary when Troy wouldn't allow Kent to invite Scraps or Swoops. Then Troy was cagey the whole meal, awkward and fidgety. Kent had joked that Troy was breaking up with him. (In reality, telling Kent he was retiring was basically the same thing.) Troy had gone still, face drawn, as he said "I'm retiring, Kent. This is my last season."

Now, with the reality of their last season as teammates over, it’s so much harder to swallow. 

The man took Kent under his wing when he arrived in Vegas at eighteen having lost his best friend and entering a world that more often than not ruins the boys it takes in. Troy had been his Everything those first few months. Scraps was there and supported Kent too, but Troy was older and wiser. He was the one who put Kent back together again. The loss of Kent’s biggest supporter on the team is devastating. Troy played centre to Kent’s left wing. He wasn’t Jack in those first few months and certainly couldn’t read his mind, but Troy was instrumental in Kent learning to live and play without Jack. Being a Vegas native, Troy is never going to be too far away. It’s just going to be difficult not seeing Troy everyday and playing without him. The thought of not having Troy on the ice anymore frightens Kent.

So yeah, Kent just wants to take a few months to be quiet and locked away from the world of Hockey. 

But the Show must go on. Kent’s learned the lesson far too many times. No matter how much you beg the world to stop turning, everything just keeps going.

He’s sitting on the back deck of the beach house, staring at the endless waves of the Atlantic. The beaches aren’t exactly white and pristine like advertised in magazines, but it’s miles from any other person. Just Kent and the roaring waves of water. He grew up in New York City, so he has a fondness of not having to look far for the ocean or open water. Nevada has its perks but it’s landlocked and a fucking desert. Kent craves the open water. And the West Coast just sucks ass, despite being a day’s drive away. Kent’s East Coast through and through.

Shades on and shirt off, Kent’s just starting to slip into his mid-afternoon nap following his swim. The waves were choppier today and he had to work a bit harder to stay on course, which makes the nap all the more desirable. His eyelids are growing heavy, the sun and saltwater working to put Kent to sleep. Then his phone vibrates. Kent sighs and ignores it.

It vibrates again. And again. And again. Until it’s a cacophony of sound as the messages roll in non-stop. 

Fully awake and nap ruined, Kent sits up in the chair and snatches his phone. He pushes his shades up to rest in his hair. Whomever is texting him is about to get a classic Kent Parson bitchy text. Don’t they realize he’s on vacation? He wonders if he could get Scraps on board for making this a fineable offence. _A hundred dollars for blowing up Parser's phone._ It better not be Swoops saying he’s done something to damage Kent’s apartment. Fondness for his former rookie be damned, Kent loves his penthouse and he will not tolerate any damages to his carefully selected design choices. (A lot of it is irreplaceable hockey memorabilia and damage to any of those items are unforgivable.)

Scrolling through the notifications on his lock screen, Kent sighs to find out that it is indeed Swoops who’s texted him. And Scraps, Troy, and even fucking Carl. Every current (and a few former) Aces player has texted him. The severity of the situation begins to dawn on Kent.

He doesn’t answer any of them right away. Just goes against the most frequent advisement and checks Twitter. He heads back into the house, half distracted as he goes through his mentions (turned off, always). Kit _mrows_ at him, annoyed, when Kent pulls his shirt from underneath her. She leaps to the floor and gives him the stink eye, fleeing to the living room. Kent doesn’t notice, he’s too engrossed in what he’s reading.

There’s no straight answer right away. But Kent’s not dumb. He can connect the dots. Everyone’s arguing about whether or not he deserved the Stanley Cup and all of his awards. Even his _fucking_ Calder is in question when the Aces were shit. #kentknew is pretty popular, which causes Kent’s stomach to twist in an ugly way. He shouldn’t have checked Twitter. Why doesn’t he ever listen?

After a few more minutes of horrified reading, getting to the bottom of the scandal, Kent pries himself away from Twitter. It’s hard. It’s like a train crash. He can’t look away. Even when the focus of the attack is him. For good measure he deletes the app after he closes it. To help with temptation. Afterwards, he switches to his messages and starts drafting replies.

He’s diplomatic, assuring. He’s the Aces’ captain and they need a leader. They all feel lost and lied to. Kent feels fucking betrayed. Knife in his back Brutus-style. The Aces built their empire on his back. His labour of love for the game of hockey. And now here they are, shitting all over that legacy. There’s going to be a big, ugly mark right where Kent’s name is in the history book. But Kent can’t think only of himself. He texts Swoops, telling him to breath and suggest he head home for the summer (generously, Kent doesn’t even remind him to empty the fridge). He delegates to Scraps, still in Vegas, to round up the handful of guys and talk them through it. He's Kent's remaining A; even though Scraps is rattled but he knows keep a cool head under pressure. Kent tells most of his teammates to all do the same thing: take a step back, let management deal with it. Kent will speak with management and get to the bottom of it. They accept his leadership.

At the end, Kent texts Troy. Since Troy is the only person who texted “are you okay?” and not “what are we going to do?” (To be fair, Scraps' what are we going to do meant 'we' in the sense of Kent  _and_ Scraps. In every other case, Kent knew 'we' meant 'you.')

 

XXXXX

 

To  **Jeff Troy** _1:34 pm:_

this is so fucked up

 

From **Jeff Troy** _1:36 pm:_

 _Y_ ou checked Twitter didn’t you? I told you not to do that. It’s a shit storm out there.

 

To **Jeff Troy** _1:43 pm:_

i hate this

 

From **Jeff Troy** _1:47 pm:_

I know you do. You let me know if you need anything. You _will_ let me know, right Parser?

 

From  **Jeff Troy** _1:55 pm:_

Right, Kent?

 

To  **Jeff Troy** 2 _:07 pm:_

yeah

  

XXXXX 

 

Kent immediately re-downloads Twitter.

  

XXXXX

 

**Falcs Dragging Their Feet Re-signing Zimmermann**

_(self.hockey)_

 

Back in 2015, the Falcs signed then 24-year old Jack Zimmermann to a 3-year deal. He would be 25 by the Sept deadline so they couldn’t hit him with that rookie contract, but they gave him something similar. I guess in case it didn’t work out. Now here we are in 2018 and the Falcs show no indication of giving Zimmermann his qualifying offer and keep him as an RFA. Guess he’s going to be a UFA by the end of the year, which is disappointing.

_submitted 3 hours ago by taterhead_

 

_(201 comments) (sorted by: top)_

  

[-] crosbeez + _179_ 3 hours ago

I actually can’t believe this is an issue. Zimmermann is actually gold and they’re pissing it away. Someone needs to have a good chat with their GM

             [-] taterhead + _23_ 2 hours ago

             I just don’t know if I can handle the Falcs fading into obscurity again. Vegas doesn’t have to be the _only_ good expansion team

             (though the Aeros are looking good for next season)

             [-] falcsjimbo99 - _4_ 1 hour ago

             He’s a shit player. Look at him on the ice, he and the team barely connect. Zimmermann obviously has some good skills but he can’t click with the team. Which is _everything_ inhockey. He and Mashkov have some chemistry but there’s like nothing between him and the others. He’s a legacy the league wanted to give a chance. His cup win was a fluke. Falcs should trade him away to a desperate franchise (lol lva maybe) and get a good draft pick

                         [-] pva0407 + _43_ 26 minutes ago

                         you insult zimms and then the aces? bro we are not friends. zimmermann is like, god tier at hockey. my gut tells me you’ve never played a day. do yourself a favour and try and play then come back here and shit on zimms for being bad

                                       [-] falcsjimbo99 - _1_ 22 minutes ago

                                       oh yeah? I’m sure you’ve never played a day yourself either. Everyone on this sub talks big for fans. I’m just sharing my opinion. Settle down, dude. Not all of us have a fucking hard on for Zimmermann.

                                                    [-] pva0407 + _0_ 1minute ago

                                                    you and me. one on one

 

[-] ovioviovi + _34_ 30 minutes ago

They gave him the three year to test out if he could handle the NHL w/o being a liability. (IMO 3 years was incredibly generous, most college players get a year). He proved himself a lot in the NCAA but it’s still quite a jump to the NHL

            [-] taterhead + _23_ 15 minutes ago

            Makes sense. Just frustrating to see them seemingly just let go of him. He won them the Cup in his first season – seems like a no brainer to keep him

                          [-] schoonseattles33 +5 10 minutes ago

                         He stagnated. He’s been playing average games ever since. Sure they won the cup in 15-16 but in 16-17 they barely made the playoffs. In 17-18 they were mathematically eliminated so early on, I cried

                                     [-] ovioviovi + _28_ 2 minutes ago

                                     You can’t make a team out of one player. The Aces are a good example. The franchise is built around Parser but you’ve got so many strong players to back him. Falcs just have Zimmermann, a fantastic player but he can’t do much if his team doesn’t compliment him

 

XXXXX

  

_You have one unread voicemail. Now playing:_

“Hi Kent. It’s me. You know your mother? It’d be nice if you gave me a call every now and then. Or even a text to let me know how you’re doing. Wish I could hear the things going on in your life from you, instead of in the paper or on the radio.

“Speaking of which, your father and I just saw that news about that terrible scandal. Oh honey, I am so sorry this is happening, but we all knew this hockey thing was never going to work out. You were never going to make a full career out of it. You’re only 28 and it looks like it’s coming to an end. But that’s not a bad thing! You’re still young, after all. There’s plenty for you do. You could go to school like your friend – you know, the troubled one. 

“Regardless that’s not why I called. Your sister’s graduation ceremony is in a few weeks and it would be nice if you’d show up. I know you’re not busy right now and it’s not like buying a plane ticket to New York is hard for you. 

“You’re probably worried about your father since that nastiness at Thanksgiving. Your father said he’d forgive you if you paid for –”

_Message deleted. No new messages._

  

XXXXX

 

 **Mike** @ _hodsonm46_

@nhlaces when are we going to hear from @kparsony90? time to put #kentknew to bed

 

 **Laurel!!** @ _parseyv_

 _replying to @_ _hodsonm46 _ _@_ _nhlaces _

seconded!! people just can’t seem to wrap their mind that maybe parser is talented enough to turn a franchise around

 

 **julien maddock** @ _julmads_

if zimmermann couldnt do it, the sub-parser player couldnt do it either #kentknew

 

 **Laurel!!** @ _parseyv_

 _replying to @_ _julmads _

just @ me next time jesus

 

 **brad k.** @ _falcsfan56_

thanks for the sub-parser pun!! @julmads going to keep this in my back pocket for the next parson fan who comes at me trying to tell me he’s not a guilty cheater #kentknew

 

 **Rachel Louisa** @ _rachellamaro_

the more i think about it. the more it makes sense. those cups weren’t deserved #kentknew

  

XXXXX

  

Some would say Kent should be an expert with the press. He’s been in the Show for nearly ten years now and has been around the block a few times. By all accounts he is, at the very minimum, able to handle the swarm that greets him as he arrives at the practice facility. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, leather grinding under his hands, and sets his jaw. Kent has been a master of plastering a cool look on his face since the day Jack told him he never wanted to see him again. The last time he was completely exposed to the media was the day of the Draft; overwhelmed by the sheer awe of being First Overall. 

Kent can be playful with the press, if he’s in a good mood. However, his cool and collected face often comes off cold and he shuts down more often than not. (Kent learned from the best at how to close himself off from the world.) Although, it’s easy to catch him off guard since he’s always been an emotional hothead, though improving. Notable instances include the first Falconers-Aces game. He can usually catch himself, cutting himself off mid-sentence or better yet, before the thought fully forms. Still, Kent occasionally lets his emotions get the better of him. Especially when the press is outside of the rink is accusing him of knowing about the scandal, being the mastermind, and demanding to know why he hasn’t held his own press conference. And with ever action repayable on the internet, ever fraction is analyzed and dragged out only leading to further pressure by the media.

Swoops catches a ride with Kent to practice. Kent pulling his car into the parking lot as Swoops’ breath catches. He lets out a quiet ‘shit’ at the amount of press around the entrance. An excess of security stand around the main doors, keeping the press out. The first practice is closed, same as the training camp. A stark departure from the previous years. He loves the kids’ (and some adult fans’) exuberance and love for the sport. It reminds him on hard days why he does what he does. He'll miss the cheers and interacting with them to take his mind off of his exhaustion, but appreciates the caution to keep everyone safe.

When Kent’s car pulls in, the mob turns to look. His car isn’t exactly subtle, the vanity plate, ACES90, is a dead give away. Anyone on the Aces could own a black Ferrari – only one of them would have that licence plate. The cameras flash and he can hear the muffled calls from the reporters.

“This is a disaster,” Swoops says. “What are we going to do, Cap?”

Kent grips his hands on the steering wheel. He’s far from the relaxed driver he likes to be. The mob doesn’t move. They know Kent has to come this way.

“I’m going to get in close and let you in here. They won’t mob you as long as I’m here,” Kent says.

He’s young and new to the franchise. He’s on the last year of his rookie contract and has been part of an Aces team that hasn’t completely dominated the league. If it were a different day, the press would be interested in Swoops’ thoughts on the scandal. But Kent is here and he’s the golden ticket.

“Then I’ll swing around back, park in the loading dock, and you can let me in there,” Kent directs.

“I’ll go fast,” Swoops promises.

The inch towards the mob and their demands for answers get louder and clearer. They don’t seem to be afraid of Kent’s car. A few even taken a few steps forward. When the car gets close enough to the entrance, Swoops dives out. Security lurches forward and clears a path for him the second the car door cracks open. Swoops is thoughtful enough to not swing the door completely out; he gives only enough space to slip through.

But the brief moments when the door is open is enough. It’s like Pandora’s Box, every terrible thing escaping into the world. Or in this case all of the reporters’ calls pouring into Kent’s car.

“What do have to say, Mr. Parson?”

“Why have you been silent throughout this all?" 

“It’s been months and you haven’t said a word!”

“What do you say to the people who blame you for this?”

And like that it ends as Swoops slams the door shut. Only their words are left in Kent’s head. All the troubles of the world always escape the box, no matter how little it was cracked open. Swoops pushes through the crowd, aided by security. Kent watches him go, ensuring Swoops gets in safely. He does, other than a few recorders coming too close to his eyes.

Kent’s face is flushed with anger, embarrassment, and guilt as he drives off to the facility’s loading dock. He’s been talking about the scandal non-stop since that fateful day in June. With the owner, those of Front Office who didn’t get canned, and the replacements to placate the fear the team might get broken up. He’s had meeting after meeting, call after endless call about it. It’s the only thing he thinks about every day when he wakes up and the last thing he thinks about before falling asleep. It even populates all the time between.

Despite Kent’s proactive role in damage control, the press is still all over him. His reputation is never going to recover from this.

So he has been on a social media hiatus. His Twitter has gone un-updated since the end of the season. His Instagram, always flooded with images of everything Kent sees is set on private with no updates. (Kent didn’t see anything fun during the off season regardless, since he quietly flew back to Vegas at the end of June.) Even Kit’s Instagram is dark, which spawned a few Buzzfeed articles claiming to know how deeply this scandal has affected Kent since he can’t even enjoy posting cat pictures. (Unnervingly true.) 

From the day he got the texts, Kent knew it would be bad to make any statement without help. Then both his agent and PR advised him to stay quiet while the situation was handled by others. Kent’s frustration grows as he can’t say anything to fans, who become more disenchanted and unsettled with him every passing day.

He thanks god he opted for tinted windows as he furiously rubs the tears away from his eyes. His nose hurts – it always hurts when he gets upset. Pulling around to the back, Swoops is there. His large dark eyes easily reflect his mood as Kent pulls up (Speaking strictly hockey, it’s a miracle Swoops doesn’t telegraph everything via his eyes). Taking a minute in the car, Kent practices deep breaths knowing it will only exacerbate Swoops’ concern. He doesn’t have too much time, however. The press will find him back here shortly. 

Then he plasters that patented Kent Parson smile and jumps out of the car. He half jogs over to Swoops, shouldering past him into the building, and tugging the one-way door shut behind them. The moment it shuts, the cool air of the hockey rink washes over him. It’s soothing. It’s familiar and home and everything Kent needs. Skates on his feet and stick in his hand with a single goal in mind: win. The spell it broken; everything is shoved back into Pandora’s Box.

“It’s rough out there,” Swoops comments.

He gives a quick optical pat down and checks Kent for any damages. His eyes dart from Kent’s cheeks (still flushed), his nose (always a dead give away), and Kent’s eyes (glassy).

“You okay?” Swoops asks quietly. 

“I’ll get over it,” Kent says.

He will. Sort of. He’s good at compartmentalizing. 

“Let’s go meet the team. I’m sure they’re missing their captain.” 

“As much as they can miss the cocky asshole who thinks he’s god’s gift to hockey,” Swoops teases.

Kent swats at Swoops head and grins. The real Kent Parson smile. Goofy and unhidden. The one he gets when the rookies swarm him asking what was it like to get drafted First Overall or when the veterans ruffle his hair and congratulate him on a good goal. The one that use to exclusively belong to Jack Zimmermann, but Kent’s learned not be stingy with his affection. Jack taught him that one the hard way. It’s no use keeping your emotions locked away. 

They make their way to the locker room where the rest of the team waits. Swoops pulls away to head to his stall and get ready. Kent makes his way to his own. Their equipment is waiting for them. A plan to was made to get it here the day before so they didn’t have to worry about lugging the bags in and through the expected media mob. Kent’s glad for the foresight. The Aces PR team is a goddamn lifesaver. 

“Always fashionably late, huh?” Scraps says when Kent walks up.

He’s grinning, already dressed in his practice gear.

“Gotta keep you waiting for the best part,” Kent says. “It’s part of being an enigma.”

Scraps rolls his eyes.

“Enigma my ass. Your big eyes give everything way,” Scraps says and there’s a soft edge to his voice. “They’re like a fucking mood ring, changing colour and shit.”

Kent blinks. Scraps can read him like a fucking book apparently. It’s news to Kent since Scraps use to complain about how only Troy could figure Kent out. But then again that was back in their rookie year. Jack use to say something similar but usually followed up by saying Kent’s _can be_ difficult to read – if you didn’t know his tell. Looks like Scraps figured him out.

“The press can’t get me down,” Kent replies.

The two of them don't need to ask the questions anymore. Sometimes not even the answer is necessary. They say it for posterity. To assert the  _realness_ of their feelings. 

“Good, let’s keep it that way.”

When Kent’s ready, the team looks at him expectantly. In a few minutes, everyone will head out onto the ice and meet the new general managers, Wayne Schroeder and Mica Wolf, and new associate coach Jess Langford. Those three are the most directly involved and important to the team – introducing the new hires will happen over time, but mostly through necessity. Redford is probably in there too. There will be unanswered questions and it will be hard to ignore the lack of information regarding the team’s future and possible punishment, but the management will do their best to quell the team’s nerves. Right now, though, Kent’s their leader. The light through the storm.

“I’m not going to lie to you,” Kent begins. “These first couple of months aren’t going to be easy. All eyes are going to be on us. Waiting for us to fuck up, for someone to go off the rails. But we’re not going to let that happen because I know we’re a damn good team. All of you are talented and deserve to be here. I believe in every single one of you and we’re going to go out there and give them the best fucking season we can.”

Swoops shouts out. Scraps joins in. The veterans follow suit and the rookies shortly afterwards. The newest members are apprehensive, Kent gets it. They’ve arrived in a rocky period. He’s not going to sit there and placate them, but he’s going to get them through this. He thrusts his stick in the air too and calls out ‘let’s go team!’ They swarm around him, passing by to get out of the locker room. He knocks gloves with a few, presses his hand to a few helmets – the ones he’s closer too; grins at the rookies.

There’s a lot of old faces. A handful of new ones. Some familiar – from the AHL team. There’s too many faces gone. Some he misses, like Troy. Some not, like Carl who’s in the middle of contract negotiation that got fucked over by the scandal.

Kent bitterly hopes Carl gets traded away. But then they’d be down another centre. Troy was Kent’s favourite but had slipped from the first line in the previous year and Carl had taken his place. They didn’t play remotely as well as Kent and Troy. Kent learned quickly not to expect a Jack from his line mates, but Troy had still given him more than anyone else. And Carl was just the shits. They were so out of sync with one another and ended up in multiple brawls and shouting matches. Kent’s looking forward to seeing who takes his place.

But the Aces are still the Aces. Unpolished and uneven ground aside, Kent’s pulled a misfit team together once. He can do it again.

  

XXXXX

 

To: 11rans.o@gmail.com

From: aholtzy4@gmail.com

SIT DOWN BEFORE READING

 

I couldn’t get the fucking link to load on my phone so I’m sending via snail mail. Drop everything and just fucking sit down before you watch this. Skip to 2:44 or watch the whole thing. I don’t even know, just like – DUDE!

 **Link:** Former Aces GM Interview [Exclusive]

 

“And today we have with us former Aces General Manager, Mark Hopkins.”

The talk show host smiles brightly. The crowd seems torn between cheering and booing as a the camera cuts to a man wearing a dark suit in the chair next to the host. 

“Thank you for having me Eleanor,” Hopkins smiles. “It’s good to finally get my story on tape.”

They banter back and forth a bit before the host gets straight to the dirt. Asking him about his involvement in the gambling, bribery, and money laundering, and then about potential criminal charges. He denies it – of course. The host smiles wanly and crosses something off the paper in front of her. (Zoom and enhancement shows it’s something about the irrefutable evidence). Apparently she’s only going for softballs here. It gets a better interview, builds trust with the guest.

“I think we should talk about Kent Parson.”

“I love Kent, good kid. Amazing hockey player,” Hopkins says. “Best investment of my career.”

“Of course. Otherwise why would you draft him? Which is exactly why I want to talk about the 2009 Draft. I think it’s probably still trending on Twitter.”

Hopkins laughs. He gestures ‘go ahead.’

“The Aces had a dismal season in 2008. Someone would compare it to Falconers’ past season performance. The franchise was struggling and you were given the pick of the litter with the first draft pick. People called it the Zimmermann-Parson lottery. Two teams were walking away with one of two generational talents. Something the hockey world has never seen, that’s not including Parson as the first American generational talent.”

“I’m going to stop you there, Eleanor. I think I know where you’re going with this,” Hopkins says, holding up his hands.

Eleanor refolds herself, body language shifting. It’s clear she’s annoyed by the interruption. 

“Oh? Tell me then,” she says, voice clipped. 

“You want to know if it was hard to choose between Zimmermann and Parson, since we had the choice,” Hopkins says.

Eleanor nods begrudgingly. Hopkins is right.

“No,” Hopkins says with such a finality that it causes the crowd to gasp. “The Aces never wanted Zimmermann. Never have. Never will.”

Taken off guard, Eleanor’s eyes go wide and she unfolds her body.

“How?” she manages. “He was a legacy. Most agree he was better than Parson.”

“Well I think what happened following the Draft speaks for itself.”

“You couldn’t have known that.”

“No. But we had an idea of Zimmermann’s spiralling prior to the Draft.”

“Who told you that?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Was is Parson?”

Hopkins shakes his head.

“Kent’s a good kid and Zimmermann was his best friend, he’d never sell him out,” Hopkins says. “Kid just wanted to play hockey, didn’t matter where. I can’t for the life of me why he’d continue on as Zimmermann’s keeper – Kent was clearly hurt by the whole ordeal.”

“So you tried to pressure him,” Eleanor says pointedly.

Hopkins doesn’t answer. He redirects instead.

“With the Aces, we didn’t like to blame it on Zimmermann’s character. Parson was consistent in every game. Win or lose he gave it his all. Zimmermann wasn’t. I guess now we all know what was going in his head.”

 

To: aholtzy4@gmail.com

From: 11rans.o@gmail.com

Re: SIT DOWN BEFORE READING

 

Fuck. How he just railed on Jack after that. It’s disgusting. Reducing the whole thing to an ‘ordeal.’ Have you heard anything from Jack?

 

To: 11rans.o@gmail.com

From: aholtzy4@gmail.com

Re: SIT DOWN BEFORE READING

 

No. Radio silence.

 

XXXXX

 

 **LINK:** _EXCLUSIVE! SPORTSGOSS’ ELEANOR MACINTYRE SITS DOWN WITH DISGRACED FORMER GM MARK HO_ _PKINS_

  

 **aces90** (+)

god what a shitshow ive always known hopkins was a bastard but i didnt think he was literally evil incarnate

 

**zimmboninumber1**

honestly? I can’t even imagine what must be going on in Jack’s head right now. I feel so bad for him. He’s come so far only for this to be just dumped on his head :(

 

**hockeee**

And to top it off the falconers are _still_ dragging their feet with resigning him. Unbelievable. It makes me hate Kent Parson more than I already do. He stole Jack’s dream and is continuing to drag his name through the mud

  

 **178 notes** _#link #hockey stuff #jack zimmermann #anti kent parson #kentknew #i’m just so UGH about all of this_ _#_ _jack’s mentally ill and a recovering addict #fucking ridiculous_ _#and bringing up in the news what triggered his OD? #disgusting_

 

 **aces90** replied to this post: fuck off @hockeee this isnt an anti-kent post go make your own if you want to shit on parson

  

 **hockeee** replied to this post: @aces90 you’re just blinded by another bland blond pretty boy with no talent. get your head out of your ass and realize he’s a manipulative dick who has made it his life mission to screw jack over 

 

 

**lvaswoops**

I WATCHED THE INTERVIEW AND I HAVEN’T STOPPED SCREAMING. CAN YOU IMAGINE? KENT WAS ALWAYS MEANT TO GO FIRST ALWAYS. ALWAYS!

 

**jackzed**

honestly same. where’s my h/c of the night after? Or au where Kent goes after Jack after he leaves the draft fuck i don’t care if it’s against regulation give me kent running off the stage to find Jack

 

 **12 notes** _#actually fuck it lets go straight to the angst #im watching old draft videos #and like kent looks so lost when he_ _realizes_ _jack_ _isn’t_ _there_ _anymore_ _?? #bad bob is so happy for him_ _when kent’s name gets called though_ _#pimms #rpf courtesy tag #hockey shit_ _#ALWAYS MEANT TO BE NUMBER ONE_

 

XXXXX

 

It’s not even the official start of the season. Yet shit continues to go down. Every day a former Aces’ staff member leaks something, even if it’s not true. The media and the fans eat it up and it always leads back to Kent. The biggest takes him back to the 2009 Draft. Kent is so tired of hearing about the Draft. There’s been a decade worth of drafts since then, with players just as talented as him. It represents such an ugly period of his life and he just wishes it would fade into obscurity.

But someone, somewhere always brings it back up. Without fail, it comes around. This time it’s bigger and meaner than before. Dealing with the (baseless) accusations that he bought his wins is one thing. It’s impersonal. People don’t know anything about what they are talking about. But blaming Kent for stealing Jack’s dream, ruining his life? That’s something Kent’s spent a significant chunk of his earnings trying to get over.

It’s around this time, the PR team finally allows Kent to speak to the public and host a press conference. For his own sanity, he’s still keeping off social media (Kit’s Instagram has gotten a single update. Captionless, comments turned off). He’s on his own for this one, but Scraps and Troy are hanging around for support afterwards. A moderator from the PR team stands at his shoulder to help control the crowd. They’re redundant. Kent can handle this.

He reads his brief statement. Denounces the actions of the former members of the Aces Front Office. Kent argued the wording was too soft. The PR team didn’t allow him to add any of his own unique flourish to it – that would just create a bigger problem. He says he looks forward to working with the new members. He ends it with a promise to work hard this seasons and restore the Aces. They let Kent write that line on his own. The world needs to hear genuine words of remorse from the Aces’ captain, it will help some of the people on the fence.

The moment the PR moderator nods, the crowd goes wild. Reporters yell, trying to get heard. The cameras flash more aggressively. Kent can’t see any faces because of it. Just a dark room and bright flashes. He points blindly to what sounds like a reasonable question. The crows quiets naturally and allows the selected reporter to speak up. They go through the normal routine: introduction, who they work for, and right into the question.

“How do you plan on assuring the new players the Aces are stable?”

Kent smiles. He guess right. A nice softball to get them started.

“I like to think I’m a half decent leader and my team somewhat respects me,” Kent says.

There’s a few chuckles from the crowd for the self-deprecating remark. They like humility and the ability to poke fun at yourself.

“Since the moment I learned about this, I haven’t stopped talking to my team. I want to make sure they’re okay and understand everything that’s happening,” Kent says. “I have a 24/7 open door policy for every single member of my team. But I believe actions speak louder than words. Our preseason games have been rough, but we’re still winning and the rookies are falling in line. Everyone’s finding their footing as we shift the rookies and veterans around.”

Kent nods and the reporter doesn’t give a follow up so Kent assumes he must be placated. The crowd erupts again and Kent selects another. The pattern repeats. Some of the questions are are more difficult but Kent’s on a roll and feels good about his answers. They are strong and clear. The conference nears the end and for a brief, insane moment Kent thinks no one is going to ask about the Draft. He’s been silent for so long, other questions have built up. It would be a waste to ask about something that happened a decade ago.

But that’s a naive fool’s dream. Kent picks out a reporter who’s pushed their way to the front. He can see their face, bright and cut out of the darkness. She wants her question answered and know how to fight for it. Kent respects that so he chooses her. When the reporter opens her mouth, he immediately regrets it. The underdogs always go right for the jugular when given the opportunity.

“How do you feel knowing you were always meant to be First Overall? That there was no competition between you and Zimmermann in the Aces’ eyes?”

Kent stares at the reporter. He makes several aborted attempts to speak. Nothing will come out. How does he feel knowing this is just going to further cement his place in hell in Jack’s mind? How does he feel that he stole Jack’s dream? Years of working to get over the issue that it’s all his fault (a selfish way of thinking) and it comes bubbling back up in a matter of weeks.

He snaps his jaw shut and grinds his teeth. There’s a little, wild laugh sitting at the back of his throat. If he lets it out, he might break down in front of the entire world. Expose the fragile man he's spent years protecting and hiding away from the world. He can’t speak. He can’t do anything but stare down the reporter who asked the question. Her eyes boring into his. She’s demanding answers. Kent refuses to yield. He’s never going to give way and expose his soul to these vultures. The media is going to hate him more after this.

“No comment,” he grits out.

Then he stands and walks out of the press hall. Scraps is on him in a second, throwing his arm over Kent’s shoulders. Troy hangs back. It's the Troy-Scraps' 'Comfort Kent' tag team. Scraps is physical, Troy uses his words and together they support Kent. The two of them are part of an exclusive club of people Kent's confided in. They lived through Kent recovering and as a reward, though Kent hesitates to use that word, he bared his soul. Troy's the only one Kent's ever told explicitly, but Scraps is observant and they've always done better not speaking. There's no doubt Scraps has inferred the missing pieces.

Behind them, the moderator is fielding a few questions of outrage and thanking everyone for their time. A true professional.

In an hour’s time the photo of Kent, slack jawed by the Draft question, is everywhere. The headlines are all a variation on a theme. Kent muttered no comment but his face screamed a different answer. Everyone is speculating what it could possibly mean. Old rumours are dredged up.

Kent throws his phone at the wall and screams into his pillow. Kit comes to sit on his back and he allows the purring resonating through his ribs and vertebrae to replace the jittering of his anxiety.

 

XXXXX

  

**NO MOM & DAD GROUP CHAT**

 

From **Ransom** _4:28 pm:_

This is so fucked up

 

From **Holster** _4:30 pm:_

I have never been happier that Jack didn’t get a twitter cause we bullied him into it

 

From **Ransom** _4:_ _31_ _pm:_

It would be a war zone

 

To **Group** _4:31 pm:_

I’ve had to turn my account private. My mentions are a mess :(

 

From **Lardo** _4:33 pm:_

god bitty i’m sorry. i can’t even imagine what you’re going through

 

To **Group** _4:36 pm:_

The bakery hasn’t had to get security yet so I thank my lucky stars for small miracles

 

From  **** **Holster** _4:38 pm:_

Have you heard anything from him? He’s not responding to anything Rans or I say

 

To **Group** _4:45 pm:_

No. nothing. I’m really worried about him.

 

To **Group** _4:47 pm:_

I just thought Jack didn’t do the draft with everything that happened.

 

From **Lardo** _4:50 pm:_

shits made the drive to see him last night. he’s still there and not responding to my texts.

 

From **Ransom** _4:_ _53_ _pm:_

He never told you, Bits? I know the story gets kind of blurry. I just would’ve thought he told you the whole story...

 

From **Lardo** _4:56 pm:_

I just assumed the OD happened before the draft. guess I was wrong

 

From  **Ransom** _5:03 pm:_

Bits, you know Jack best. What should we do?

 

To **Group** _5:12 pm:_

Give him space. Send your messages of support but just... give him time to reply. He’ll come around

  

XXXXX

 

**Well it Was Nice Knowing You, Zimmboni**

_(self.nhlfalconers)_

 

Looks like Zimmermann is continuing on as an RFA for a bit. Hopefully the GM can get this sorted out before the season really gets going. It sucked not seeing him play during the preseason. Crossing my fingers for December!

S _ubmitted 2 hours ago by taterhead_

 

_ (54 comments) (sorted by: top) _

 

[-] providence24 + _24_ 3 hours ago

That’s really... fucking disappointing. GMTW got a taste of the cup and now they’re throwing away their best shot at a repeat

[-] taterhead + _34_ 2 hours ago

They really don’t understand that you can’t build a team with a single player.

[-] falcsjimbo99 - _3_ 2 hours ago

The aces did it :p

[-] taterhead + _10_ 1 hour ago

No. Hopkins saw Parson and built a team around him. They didn’t win the cup Parson’s rookie year and were abysmal for another year until Parson was made Captain and the lineup was adjusted. They built the franchise _around_ Parson, not on him like the falcs tried to do with Zimmermann

[-] providence24 + _2_ 25 minutes ago

Fucking seconded man. We tasted what the Aces had and GM wasted it.

 

[-] bennynjets08 + _13_ 1 hour ago

hey gmtw turn on your location, i just want to talk.....

[-] thirdythird + _2_ 30 minutes ago

should we feel bad we have the jets’ fanbases’ sympathy now too?

 

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _2_ 2 hours ago

looks like gmtw is looking to shake up the lineup after declining performances. I think a lot of the vets should be worried too. zimmermann is only the first to go. domino effect

[-] thirdythird - _4_ 20 minutes ago

u/falcsjimbo99 writing a post that isn’t railing on zimmermann? Is this opposite day?

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _2_ 10 minutes ago

the mods told me i needed to be kinder and stop riling people up or I’ll get soft banned

[-] thirdythird  _0_ 2 minutes ago

thank you u/taterhead

  

XXXXX

  

 **anonymous** asked: What’s the story of the jersey? Where did the footage come from?

 

 **lvaswoops** answered:

(link for those who want to see the gif set that mel made)

i know people tend to give me a bad rap for not respecting the players’ boundaries and i don’t really condone what happened here, but at the same time... it creates so many questions. someone on twitter (their account is deactivated now rip) took a video of kent at a bar alone during a falconers’ game during jack’s first season

in the video kent is wearing a falconers jersey. it’s got the number one, so obviously it’s jack’s. wowow. when kent turns around at the end of the video you can see that it doesnt have the ‘A’ on it meaning kent got the jersey before jack was made an alternate captain. it’s a pretty quiet show of support but i Love It

hope that helps nonnie!

 

 **16 notes** _#_ _winry_ _’s hockey Qs #Anonymous #hockey stuff #kent parson #jack zimmermann #pimms_

 

 **jackzed** replied to this post: here’s the link to the original video (i saved it on dropbox!)

  

XXXXX

 

 **Kent Parson** @kparsony90

Looking forward to the start of the season! @nhl @nhlaces ♠️♠️♠️ 

 

 **Laurel!!** @parseyv

 _replying to @_ _ kparsony90 _

finally the twitter silence is broken! we’ve missed you parser! looking forward to this season too! ♠️♠️ 

 

 **Mark** @hodsonm46

 _replying to @_ _ kparsony90 _

glad to have you back! let’s go for the cup this year!

 

 **Rachel Louisa** @rachellamaro

 _replying to @_ _ kparsony90 _

i was unsure because of the scandal, but i’m glad you’re back, kent #goaces

 

 **julien maddock** @julmads

 _replying to @_ _ kparsony90 _

looking forward to seeing you play without the money backing you up #kentknew

 

XXXXX

 

**Most Disappointing Rookie?**

_(self.hockey)_

 

_submitted 6 hours ago by crosbeez_

 

_(1134 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] vegasgold +45 _5_ hours ago

this might be a bit of a hot take but any of the so called ‘generational talents’ who live and breath hockey. they’re basically robots the NHL dumps out at the end of their careers who’ve only known hockey for their entire lives and have no interpersonal skills.

it’s why i’m such a parser fan. he wasn’t a generational talent (I KNOW THIS IS A SOURCE OF CONTENTION JUST LET ME LIVE). wasn’t drafted into the Q – just picked up at a prospect camp. he’s personable and such a nice guy to talk to (i met him at the aces fan fest a couple years ago and he was so genuine and we had a really great conversation). He loves hockey but hasn’t let it all consume him and i like to see a dedicated rookie capable of balancing a real life. I look forward to his career after the NHL.

_But he needs to win us a few more cups first_

[-] bennynjets08 +102 _3_ hours ago

r/vegasaces come collect u/vegasgold he clearly missed the memo that all parser related circle jerks were to be contained there from now on

[-] vegasgold +23 _2_ hours ago

oh come on i related to the topic...

[-] crosbeez +56 _2_ hours ago

Sorry man but u/bennynjets08 is right. r/hockey voted and all parser related circle jerking (defined here in the original voting thread) sticks to the aces’ sub UNTIL the playoffs and we’ve got all the bandwagoners OR parser does something completely batshit (like a break a record; also defined in the original thread)

                                       HOWEVER u/vegasgold did relate to the topic so I’ll let the comment stand... for now.

                                       Mod Crosbeez out

 

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _6 4_ hours ago

you’re just begging for me to say it aren’t you? jack zimmermann. no argument

[-] ovioviovi+ _8_ 3 hours ago

He literally won your team the cup in his first year... then he won the calder. I don’t understand

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _2_ 3 hours ago

Nothing but a fluke. Sub par players do it all the time. had a hot season then disappeared. The team had a placebo effect that propelled them forward but zimmermann failed to produce the next two seasons. I’m glad to see him go.

[-] taterhead + _18_ 1 hour ago

Nothing’s set in stone yet...

[-] schoonseattle33 + _7_ 10 minutes ago

Zimmermann isn’t even technically a rookie. He turned 25 before ever playing in the NHL, making him ineligible for any form of rookie contract. I’ve never seen anyone have a harder hate boner for an objectively good player

  

XXXXX

 

 **NHL NEWS** @nhlnewssource

‼️BREAKING‼️#JackZimmermann has rejected the @falconersNHL qualifying offer and will remain an RFA. Falcs 🦅 expected to rebut within the week.

 

XXXXX

 

There’s a certain weight off Kent’s shoulders for tonight’s game. Sure they’re playing the Falconers but Jack’s not on the roster. He won’t be in the lineup. All Kent has to worry about is Mashkov trying to slam him into the boards. Man, does that dude hold a grudge. But Kent's quick enough to stay out of the Mashkov's way.

Without Jack, the press is quiet. He hasn’t had to field any more questions on the Draft. Instead, all of the heat is on the Falconers’ Front Office – particularly their general manager. Everyone wants to know what they plan to do since Jack rejected their qualifying offer last night. Kent is pleased to discover he’s all but forgotten. He’s free to walk the street of Providence without fear of the press standing outside the rink or his hotel, demanding to know what’s going on his head. Or how he feels about Jack.

Finally something a bit more interesting than the Aces’ scandal. Sure it’s still early in the season, but the Aces proved themselvesin the preseason even if there’s an exhausting disconnect between him and his linemates (a problem for later in the season, when burnout is more of a threat). There’s a brief reprieve as the world seems satiated with the Aces’ apparent downfall.

Walking the streets of Providence, Kent makes his way to a tiny coffee shop a few blocks from the hotel. It’s locally owned and the owners are good people. Use to NHLers walking in, since it’s not far from the rink, the owners don’t cause a fuss when star athletes walk in. Likewise, most customers are desensitized to the comings and goings of hockey players. Kent likes it since he doesn’t have to wear his snapback pushed so far down it obscures his face. It can perch on the top of his head, flipped backwards.

The door chimes as Kent walks in and the aroma of freshly baked goods and coffee overtake him. It’s hard to find a place like this in Vegas. There’s a lot of chains around where Kent lives and the local places often make a big deal when he patrons them, in an attempt to drum up business. No one pays him any mind here in Providence as he walks in.

The shop is mostly empty. An older woman sits straight-backed in a window seat tapping furiously away at her laptop. A man stands at the pick up end of the counter, brows furrowed and eyes obscured by aviators as he stares down at his phone.

The single barista looks at him and smiles from the machine she’s working currently at.

“I’ll be right with you, sir,” she says.

She gives no indication that she knows who he is. As if today could get any better. All that needs to happen is a complete blowout of the Falconers and for Kent to dodge Mashkov all night. Celebratory drinks on him.

“No problem,” Kent replies, giving her a little wave.

His phone buzzes and he sighs knowing it’s Swoops asking for something. (He's lost. He's always lost.) Sure Swoops was a kid when he arrived in Vegas (so was Kent) but he can handle being in a different city. It’s part of the job description. But Kent still drops the pin for the hotel. He’s such a nice fucking guy (and real softy for Swoops). He grins a bit to himself. Then comes to the realization that if he continues to baby Swoops, the dude is never going to move out. Kent is going to have to ask Troy how he got Kent to move out of his basement. Because Kent never wanted to leave the safety and comfort of Troy's home.

“Fucking hell is that Kent Parson?” someone says from Kent’s left.

He turns. No one else new has entered the shop. Aviators at the other end of counter has looked up from his phone. After he pulls his aviators onto his head, Kent immediately recognizes Jack’s college friend. He’s older with short, well-kept hair and dark bags under his eyes but it’s most certainly him. Kent’s not good with faces, but he can’t seem to forget anyone associated with Jack Zimmermann.

“No autographs, please,” Kent says, coolly, but he still smiles.

Shitty, like Kent could ever forget a nickname like that, strides forward and holds his hand out. Kent shakes it firmly. He thought Jack’s friends would hate him. They _should._ After all, things didn’t end so well between Jack and Kent. Certainly the massive fights they had were spoken of frequently. The walls of the frat house they all lived in were nowhere close to soundproof.

“It’s been a while,” Shitty says pleasantly enough.

“Certainly has,” Kent replies. “Miss the sick flow though.”

“Well I’m technically a lawyer now so I have to be respectable,” Shitty says. “Graduated a couple of months ago. Still feels unreal.”

“Ah, well congrats, man,” Kent says as he claps Shitty on the back.

Shitty grins.

“I’m no star hockey player, but I make ends meet,” he says.

“One black, one two cream two sugar,” the barista calls.

(‘Double double,’ Kent thinks to himself. His years in Canada permeate into every crevice of his existence both when it’s convenient and when it’s not.  _Especially_ when it’s not. It was only a blink in his life, even when he’s barely 30. But the years were so formative, the things he learned are embedded deeply into his soul.)

Shitty walks back, takes the two large coffees and thanks her before heading back to Kent. The barista returns to the till and looks expectantly at Kent, ready to take his order.

“I actually need to talk to you,” Shitty says. “You take it like Jack right?”

Kent nods and Shitty thrusts one of the cups at him. Feeling bad for ditching the barista, he shoves a fiver into the tip jar before following Shitty out of the coffee shop. Kent tastes the coffee; double double the way he likes it.

Shitty doesn’t say anything for about a block. They’re walking semi-aimlessly but Kent is sure Shitty’s subconsciously taking them somewhere. He seems jittery and nervous, like he’s unsure of what to say.

“How you been, man? Rough summer with all that gambling garbage?” Shitty begins. “Legal must be a mess.” 

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Kent admits. “It’s been a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired coming out of the preseason. I barely even played, but carrying the line was hard. Mad respect for Wheels playing center when he’s a winger, I can’t even hack two preseason games.”

“You don’t know tired until you’re a first year associate at a law firm,” Shitty says.

He looks at Kent with those tired eyes. It’s haunting. Like there’s nothing in there – as if all the life has been sucked out. Then Shitty laughs and the light returns. He sips at his coffee and smiles ahead. A little joke.

“Sorry man, I gotta mess with you as Jack’s friend and all,” Shitty says.

Kent takes a sip of his coffee in place of biting his tongue. He deserves it. But Shitty only knows Jack’s side of the story. Where Kent is the villain and Jack is the victim. Not Kent’s half where he arrived to find his best friend unconscious on a gurney and so cold it was like touching the ice. Not the narrative of a teenager who lost his mind with grief and a best friend who cut him out like their years together meant nothing.

For the most part, Kent is over it. Some days can be trouble and there’s certainly nights where he’s stuck on thought he could’ve done something different. Therapy helped a lot in getting over Jack and the situation. That Kent is allowed to feel hurt and traumatized by the event. The majority of the time, Kent is just sad they’ll never be Zimmermann-Parson again. And that Jack doesn’t seem to think he needs to apologize.

(Kent’s apologies have grown stale on his lips, unheard and unwanted.)

“Speaking of being Jack’s friend, that’s sort of why I wanted to talk to you,” Shitty continues.

“Look, I’m over it. I’ve moved on. I’m not going to harass him about joining the Aces. Contract fiascos suck and I’m not going to jump on him now that there’s blood in the water,” Kent sighs. “I fucked up and I’ve tried to apologize.”

“No, not that,” Shitty says waving him off. “I know all that. Jack needs advice and I can’t give it to him.”

“I’m the last person Jack wants to hear from. He’s made it very clear I’m not wanted in his life.”

Shitty sighs in frustration and runs his hand through his hair. By force of habit, is hands continue after the end of the short strands. A force of habit, it seems. To hid his bumble, Shitty quickly pats the top of his head, smoothing out some of the more unruly hairs. For a lawyer, Shitty has a lot of tells. Kent hopes, for the sake of Shitty’s career, he can hide them in court.

“You’ve negotiated multiple contracts with the Aces, Jack could use advice on what to do,” Shitty says. “He’s afraid his career will end here.”

“As soon as he becomes a UFA, someone will scoop him right up. He’s a hot fucking commodity and GMs will kill for him,” Kent says. “Teams are scrambling for the chance to get him. I’m sure the Falconers have multiple trade offers for him right now.”

“That’s like, the best thing anyone could say. Would you do me a solid and text him that?” Shitty says. “Whatever’s between the two of you, coming from you – it would still mean a lot. You have experience and Jack knows you enough to have some confidence in your opinion.”

“I don’t have his number,” Kent admits.

He deleted it from his phone about a year ago. There was a certain freedom he felt in his chest when he hit delete. It took a few more months to erase the number from his brain. It seem seared in there from all the drunk texts he sent Jack in those first years of their estrangement. Even now, some of the numbers linger in his brain – out of order and out of place. If Kent were to see the number again, it would easily realign in his brain. Locking back into place. He needs more time before he completely forgets Jack’s number, so it can just be another number.

“It’s the same as it’s always been,” Shitty says.

Kent hates the implication in Shitty’s tone and comes to a standstill in the middle of the sidewalk. Shitty continues a bit longer before noticing. He turns around to face Kent, confused.

“Look I don’t know what Jack has told you about our relationship, but I put a lot of time and energy getting him out of my system. I spent a lot of time hung up on him and I’ve just finally figured out how to get Jack out of my head,” Kent says. His voice hitches and gets a little desperate and Kent knows it’s only going to make Shitty less likely to believe him. He pauses and recollects himself, avoiding Shitty’s eyes. “I forgot his fucking number okay? I don’t have it anymore.”

“Oh,” Shitty says.

His face is neutral but his tone gives it all away. He’s surprised Kent isn’t clinging to it. In that second, Kent hates Jack for all the shit he’s said. Creating the false image that Kent is desperate and still in love with him. Sure it was the Kent in 2014 but this is 2018 Kent. He’s older with executive function and half a decade of therapy under his belt. Pining for Jack Zimmermann is no longer Kent Parson’s _modus operandi_. He's no longer stuck in the juniors and how things use to be. Shit changes and Kent learned the hard way how to move the fuck on. 

Shitty pulls a scrap of paper and a pen from his messenger bag. Shitty quickly scrawls down the number and passes it to Kent. Taking it, he curls the paper into his fist. Kent can’t look at those numbers. It would be so easy to fall back into that pattern.

“It’s a good thing Jack already hates me,” Kent says. “Because this sure isn’t going to win me any favours.”

“Jack doesn’t hate you,” Shitty assures him.

Kents hates the placation. So he gets aggressive and defensive. Old habits die hard.

“Sure he doesn’t,” Kent says sarcastically. “Because I historically haven’t been a massive douchebag to him.”

Shitty glares at him.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Kent says. “I’m going to fuck off now before I do something I regret.”

(Like blowing up at Shitty isn’t something Kent already feels bad about.)

“Just text him okay?” Shitty says.

His voice is strained. He sounds desperate. Ball is in Kent’s court. He could be the bigger person but Shitty’s pissed him off enough today. Kent may be more mature but he still has his moments of pettiness.

“I don’t owe Jack anything,” Kent informs Shitty. “I have a game to get ready for.”

For emphasis, he throws the scrap of paper away. Shitty watches him impassively, face shuttering. Kent’s pretty sure he’s cemented himself on Shitty’s Least Favourite People List. He doesn’t fucking care. Shitty and Jack and all those Samwell hockey frat bros aren’t who matter to Kent. Turning around, Kent takes his coffee and walks back to the hotel.

Swoops arrives at the entrance around the same time. He looks relieved to see Kent, smiling at him. The tension in Kent’s chest unclenches. He feels better being with people who like him for him. Not Jack fucking Zimmermann and his brigade of protectors who think Kent is Public Enemy Number 1.

"You got coffee?” he asks.

“Here,” Kent says passing him the half finished cup off.

“You’re the best, Cap,” Swoops says.

He lifts up the large bag and shows it to Kent, grinning. It looks like an Xbox. Kent rolls his eyes fondly. Rookies. Young adults with way too much money in their pockets and no impulse control to tell them how to spend it. The best of times and worst of times.

“Want me to kick your ass at NHL18?” Kent asks.

“You’re good on real ice but you’re hopeless with a controller,” Swoops says.

“Then I’ll be the Falconers.”

“Only if I get to play as myself.”

Kent laughs and follows Swoops back up to his hotel room. He loses miserably. He always does. Swoops does a little celly when he wins, which attracts some others. Soon enough a fair portion of the team is packed into Swoops’ room, chirping Kent for his terrible gaming skills. This is where Kent belongs.

 

XXXXX

 

To  **Kent Parson** _11:54 pm:_

Good game tonight.

 

From **Kent Parson** _12:31 am:_

how did you get this number because i sure as fuck didnt give it to your lackey

 

To **Kent Parson** _12:34 am:_

Shitty isn’t my lackey. He’s just concerned. I didn’t even know what he did until an hour ago.

 

To **Kent Parson** _12:35 am_

Before you ask, yes Shitty planned to find you today. I’m sorry if it felt like an ambush.

 

To **Kent Parson** _12:36 am:_

I got your number from my mom.

 

From **Kent Parson** _12:41 am:_

shes off the christmas card list

 

To **Kent Parson** _12:43 am:_

:(

 

From **Kent Parson** _12:46 am:_

holy hell did you just use an emoji? i was kidding zimms i love your mom

 

To **Kent Parson** _12:48 am:_

You would’ve broken her heart.

 

From **Kent Parson** _12:56 am:_

look zimms not that I don’t appreciate this blast from the past but its late and i have an early flight tomorrow can we get to the point?

 

To **Kent Parson** _1_ _:01 am:_

I’m sorry.

 

From **Kent Parson** _1:06am:_

for what exactly?

 

To **Kent Parson** _1:08 am:_

For everything. It’s not ideal to do this over text message but it’s long overdue and I knew you would’t answer if I called.

 

From **Kent Parson** _1_ _:21 am:_

fuck zimms i dont know what im supposed to say here. thank you? fuck off? im sorry too?

 

To **Kent Parson** _1_ _:23 am:_

All are very viable options.

 

To **Kent Parson** _1_ _:24 am:_

I know it’s been a long time, but we should talk. I’m sure you have some things to get off your chest.

 

From **Kent Parson** _1_ _:28 am:_

dont pretend to fucking know me jack

 

To **Kent Parson** _1_ _:30 am:_

Sorry.

 

From **Kent Parson** _1_ _:31 am:_

god you are so canadian wheres my ‘go fuck yourself kenny?’

 

From  **Kent Parson** _1_ _:38 am:_

okay. lets do it. lets fucking meet up and sort our shit out like adults

 

To **Kent Parson** _1:41 am:_

:)

 

From  **Kent Parson** _1:43_ _am:_

thats so weird

 

To  **Kent Parson** _1:45_ _am:_

Really good game tonight. Your goal in the second was out of nowhere. They never even saw it coming

 

From  **Kent Parson** _1:47_ _am:_

yeah no thanks to my 1C hes a mess

 

From  **Kent Parson** _1:56_ _am:_

thanks

 

From  **Kent Parson** _2:12_ _am:_

dont stress about your contract itll sort itself out it always does

 

From  **Kent Parson** _2:15_ _am:_

the falcs would be idiots to not keep you any team would be lucky have you

 

To  **Kent Parson** 2 _:21_ _am:_

That means a lot, thank you. Night Kenny.

 

From  **Kent Parson** 2 _:_ _30_ _am:_

night zimms

 

XXXXX

  

(img) (img)

 

**jackzed**

kent and jack were spotted in boston last week! is it a coincidence this is so close after the lva and pvd game? B)

 

**lvaswoops**

THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! this is the first time jack and kent have been seen with each other since before the draft. are we witnessing a miracle (off ice)?

 

 **hockeee** (+)

I can’t believe you think Parson and Jack meeting up is a _good_ thing. Parson is a toxic, abusive person and someone needs to let Jack know he’s making a big mistake.

 

**aces90**

you seriously need to back the fuck off @hockeee mel and winry arent harming anyone. not to mention you know absolutely nothing about jack and kent’s relationship. jack’s an adult and knows his own boundaries. go outside or something

 

 **58 notes** _#i know i said id stop letting hockeee bait me BUT THEY MAKE ME SO MAD #maybe they are right but we have no g*ddamn way of knowing #ill go back to hockey analysis now #hockey wank for ts_  

 

XXXXX

 

 **NHL NEWS** @nhlnewssource

‼️BREAKING‼️@NHLaces have made an offer sheet for #JackZimmermann following his rejection of the initial qualifying offer! Will @falconersNHL 🦅match or will we see a new key player on the Aces? ♠️

 

XXXXX

 

Kent’s trying to nap when his phone goes off. It buzzes noisily against the wood of his bedside table. It vibrates ceaselessly, the material of the table only amplifying the sound. He cracks an eye open. The phone actually moving from the series of incoming texts. His gut tell him not to answer. Last time this happened, he learned the world as he knew it was falling apart. Someone being so desperate to get in contact with him is never good news.

Swoops is out of the penthouse, god only knows where. Kent sort of hopes he’s looking for his own place. Not that he doesn’t love him, but Kent’s never really had his home all to himself. He’d like that just once before the GM pushes another rookie at him. Scraps promised he’d try to subliminally imply Swoops should get his own apartment, but Kent is dubious on the actual effect.

His phone continues to go off and Kent realizes whoever is on the other end is relentless. They won’t go away until he answers.

There goes his post-practice nap. It’s ritual. Key to Kent’s pre-game checklist. The post-practice nap a day before the game is instrumental to Kent’s winning streak. He attributes at least 10% of his playoff wins to the nap. Whoever is on the other end better have a goddamn good reason for ruining it.

Turning onto his side, Kit leaps off his belly. She, too, is disgruntled by the interruption. Kent reaches out to pet her with his other hand but she eludes him. He won't get to touch her for this infraction, it seems. Sighing he pulls his phone from his bedside table. It’s still buzzing. Jack Zimmermann’s name is rolling down the lock screen. Kent can barely look at the last text before another takes its place.

Opening his messages, he scrolls to the top of the already daunting amount of messages. Every single one of them is in French.

“Fuck,” Kent says.

Jack’s language of choice for anger. Sure he can yell in English (see: playing hockey) but French _is so much faster_. He can get far more out in the same amount of time it would take in English. Jack’s first language is French and he tends to think in it most of the time. Kent didn’t really understand that until he actually pissed Jack off enough off the ice. Sure he’s yelled at Kent for fucking around on the ice. But that’s in English. If the texts are in French, Jack must be _furious_.

Kent’s French is rusty at best. He hasn’t exactly put it to use since leaving the Q. Whenever he goes to Canada he usually gets an opportunity or two to use it. Sometimes he’ll even chirp a French-Canadian player. Which has all lead up to vulgar words making up the majority of his vocabulary. (If he hadn’t spent two summers in Montreal, it would be used getting him and Swoops un-lost. But the map of the city is seared into his mind).

Skimming through Jack’s texts, Kent can easily pick out the nastiest curse words French has to offer. Yeah, Zimms is seething. White hot rage.

It takes Kent some time to read through them, the language coming to him slowly. But he eventually picks up what Jack is saying.

 

From **Zimms** _4:34 pm:_

I can’t fucking believe you.

 

From **Zimms** _4:34 pm:_

I honestly thought for a moment you had changed.

 

From **Zimms** _4:35 pm:_

That our talk meant something.

 

From **Zimms** _4:35 pm:_

Somehow we could work through all our shit and be friends again.

 

From **Zimms** _4:3_ _6_ _pm:_

Once a bullshitter always a manipulative bullshitter I guess.

 

From **Zimms** _4:36 pm:_

Instead this is all some backhanded ploy.

 

From **Zimms** _4:37 pm:_

Unbelievable.

 

From **Zimms** _4:37 pm:_

You never changed a fucking bit did you?

 

From **Zimms** _4:38 pm:_

This was all so you could get me to play for the Aces?

 

From **Zimms** _4:40 pm:_

This is a new goddamn low, even for you.

 

To **Zimms** _4:41 pm_ :

what the fuck are you even talking about

 

From **Zimms** _4:_ _42_ _pm:_

Don’t bullshit me Kent. I know exactly how you operate.

 

To **Zimms** _4:_ _43_ _pm:_

you have no fucking idea who i am anymore. you lost all rights to that years ago.

 

To **Zimms** _4:_ _45_ _pm:_

but keep blaming me for all your fucking problems.

 

To **Zimms** _4:_ _46_ _pm:_

its worked for you so far so why not keep at it?

 

From **Zimms** _4:_ _48_ _pm:_

You just keep deflecting.

 

To **Zimms** _4:_ _50_ _pm:_

i have no fucking idea what youre talking about

 

From **Zimms** _4:_ _51_ _pm:_

Everyone knows you carry weight within the Aces’. I bet the new GM would do anything to get you on his side.

 

To **Zimms** _4:_ _54_ _pm:_

so you think im the mastermind behind the aces? get in line with the other fuckheads of #kentknew

 

From **Zimms** _4:_ _58_ _pm:_

You’re unbelievable.

 

Kent shouts out wordlessly and throws his phone across his bed. It bounces once before flying off the bed. It keeps buzzing as Jack continues on with his tirade. He switched to English when Kent started texting back. Kent’s pretty damn sure that’s just because he was replying in English and not because Jack was cooling down. He seems pretty fired up about whatever’s going on.

Sighing, Kent slides off the bed and shamefully collects his phone. Jack’s angry texts keep rolling in, blaming Kent for the Aces putting in an offer sheet for Jack. He had no idea it was coming – no one has consulted him. Kent has barely spoken to the new GM since the first practice. Jack has to understand.

But Jack isn’t going to believe Kent over text. There’s no inflection or tone. Staring at the messages, Kent sees no other choice. He’s going to have to call Jack. Hopefully he’ll pick up and not throw his phone across the room like Kent just did.

Pressing talk, the phone buzzes with one last text message. Kent puts his phone up to his ear and listens to the rings. Once. Twice. A third time. Then a click. Jack picks up with an angry sigh. Both of them are silent for a few beats. Then they both start talking at the same time. Jack with his angry accusations and Kent with his defense. So out of tune with each other, but they were always this way in their fights. Blurting out to beat the other to the point. Who ever finished first was the winner, in some fucked up way.

“Zimms, you gotta believe me,” Kent says earnestly. “I had nothing to do with this.”

Jack doesn’t listen. He continues on his rant. Accusing of Kent of being the originator of this situation. As if Kent’s sole purpose in life is to fuck over Jack Zimmermann.

“Jack!” Kent shouts. “Shut up and listen to me!”

Kit, having tucked herself into his dirty laundry hamper, skitters out of the room. He’ll have to make this all up to her later. Kent’s glad Swoops isn’t here. If him throwing his phone at the wall hadn’t alerted him, this would’ve. The last thing Kent needs is an overly concerned Swoops barging into his room.

“Why?” Jack says.

“I don’t know what to tell you other than I had no idea this was coming,” Kent insists. “I promise you Jack, I had nothing to do with this.”

“You’ve tried this before.”

“That was four years ago. I was stupid and hotheaded and desperate. I was too caught up in the past,” Kent admits. “I’m not that person anymore. I know it’s hard to see past the dumb fuck who cornered you in your room, but we haven’t spoken in four years. You have to understand people change.”

Jack’s quiet. There’s rustling on the other end. There’s a couple of sighs. Or deep breathing. Kent thinks Jack is calming himself down. Using some sort of breathing exercises. Kent pretends he can't count the cycles. 

“I swear on my cat’s life,” Kent says. “I would never do that to you, Jack.”

Jack inhales sharply. He doesn’t say anything. Both of them are silent for a long time. Kent flexes his hands, realizing how tightly he had been wound up. Staring out the window, he waits for Jack. Kent said his piece, offered Jack what he could. Now it’s Jack’s move. Story of Kent’s fucking life.

It’s not like Kent could ask Jack to believe him based on who they were. Kent’s whole argument is that he’s changed. Or rather matured. Kent feels a deep shame for what happened back in December 2014. It reflected into how Kent spoke during their conversation. Hopefully Jack takes into account everything Kent put on the table then as well as what he said today. Otherwise Kent is at a loss.

A lot of his feelings have been blown open at having a tentative link to Jack. There’s a spark in a void Kent has long learned to accept will never be filled. It will probably hurt more to have Jack ripped away before they even get started again. Before they are even technically friends.

“This is why we’re bad for each other, Kenny,” Jack whispers. “I didn’t even think. I just went with my gut. Everything about you makes me just react with no thought behind it.”

Kent exhales through his nose. Jack has said something similar before. That back in the Q – those two trips to Samwell – they brought out the worst in each other. Jack turned into an angry green-eyed monster and Kent became a self-serving aggressor. They did that to each other. Kent rejects the premise. He’s responsible for his own actions and has learned to better manage his feelings. Though he does agree Jack use to make it harder to control himself. It was easy to get wrapped up in him, forget himself and the world. Now, however, he knows far better.

“The idea of who I am that you have is from four years ago,” Kent counters. “Give us the benefit of the doubt. I’d like to get to know the you from now. I’ve certainly matured and learned how to manage myself. Sure we were bad for each other back then, but that doesn’t have to be the case now.”

Jack doesn’t say anything. He’s probably thinking it over. Staring at something with those huge soulful eyes. Kent doesn’t even know where Jack is right now. He can only picture him standing in a big white box. Maybe the Falconers are on a roadie and he’s in a hotel or he’s just the left the gym or is at the apartment Kent’s never seen. This is a Jack Kent knows very little about. He’d like to get to know 2018 Jack. He thinks he and 2018 Kent would make good friends.

“Look it makes sense why you got mad. I completely understand,” Kent says, continuing on with a slightly different approach.

“You do?”

“Yeah but it doesn’t mean I think it’s okay for you to rip into me like that,” Kent says. “You don’t know me in the slightest anymore. That stuff fucking hurt, considering what the media says about me almost daily.”

“M’sorry,” Jack murmurs.

“Thanks,” Kent says.

“I love playing for the Falconers,” Jack says. “I love this team. I want to see it go farther.”

“I know. I can’t imagine what would happen if I learned someone was trying to wrestle me away from the Aces. I’ve given my heart and soul to this team.”

“God, Kent. This fucking sucks. My future, back into uncertainty. You have to know how much I hate this.”

(Of course Kent does. It’s the insecurity Kent has been weaponizing against Jack for years. Cruel attempts to make Jack desperate enough to run to him. It churns Kent’s stomach. What a deplorable thing he use to do. Jack’s fear and anxiety of his future, of losing his potential, is something he confided in Kent. And Kent spit in his face.)

A younger Jack would be thinking about his dad. Whose career was never in limbo. That teams were tripping over themselves to get him in their lineup. Does Jack still follow the same path of self-doubt? One wrong word and Kent could seriously damage their infant friendship. All their previous conversations via text, the short one in person, have been cautious. Afraid to say something that might set the other off, drag them back down the ugly path they went down following the Draft. Kent’s particularly concerned about reminding Jack of why he cut Kent off. As if he’ll say one thing and Jack will snap, saying this was a mistake and abruptly end contact.

“Don’t think about your Dad,” Kent says, taking the risk. “You’re two different players. The Falconers are idiots and they’ll realize that when you win the Cup on another team.”

“Even if that’s not on the Aces?” Jack asks.

It looks like he’s testing the waters too.

“Look, I’m not going to lie – it would be unreal to play with you again,” Kent says. “But I’m not into manipulating you to do it. The Kent who tried to pressure you is not who I am anymore. What ever happens, happens. Maybe we’ll hoist the Cup together or we’ll play each other for it. Whatever it is, I’m looking forward to it.”

“You talk too much about feelings these days,” Jack teases. “Remember when all you could think about was hockey?”

Kent smiles into the receiver.

“Are you chirping me, Zimms? Because if I recall correctly, there was only one hockey maniac between the two of us.”

“No, I like it. I like the new, mature Kent,” Jack answers.

Kent’s chest soars. He tries to push it away. Jack’s approval should mean nothing to him. He’s spent years getting past this. Working through his pathetic need for Jack to acknowledge him.

“But if we do meet on the road to the Cup – just know I’m coming for you and that weak centre of yours,” Jack says.

Oh now he’s chirping.

“You’ll need a team for that,” Kent says.

“Oh I’ll have one. I’m Jack Zimmerman, the most sought after player in the NHL.”

 

XXXXX

  

**OFFER SHEET ALERT! LVA FOR JACK ZIMMERMANN**

_(self.hockey)_

 

_submitted 7 hours ago by taterhead_

 

_(451 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] crosbeez + _100_ 7 hours ago

NOW that’s what I call Hockey! They don’t happen often and always lead to some big shake up. On one hand I can’t help but think this is another underhanded move by the Aces but at the same time it makes up for the horrible things Hopkins said about Zimmermann in the first place. Why wouldn’t they want him? He’s an all-star!

[-] thirdythird + _48_ 5 hours ago

completely underhanded, dirty move by the aces typical of their franchise. Offer sheets are backhanded and disrespectful. the new aces gm doesn’t fall far from the aces gm tree

[-] schoonseattle33 + _29_ 3 hours ago

I respectfully disagree. I think it’s a GM trying to right the actions of his predecessor. Hopkins fucked up royally by admitting he didn’t want Zimmermann. Now Vegas has a chance for the Zimmermann-Parson no-look one-timer. That’s a Cup in the bag.

[-] taterhead + _12_ 1 hour ago

Can’t say I’m happy at the idea of losing Zimmermann but it’s exciting to see if the Falconers match. They were trying to work him down with the qualifying offers and now they’ve lost that opportunity. Falcs only have two cards left to play...

[-] crosbeez  _+3_ 50 minutes ago

Wait. Zimmermann signed? This just got a hell of a lot more interesting. Strap in boys. The next seven days are going to be tense.

 

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _10_ 6 hours ago

Disappointing to see him go this way. Was really looking forward to watching teams scramble for him as a UFA. Offer sheets are Risky Business.

 

[-] pva0407 - _2_ 1 hour ago

no #kentknew? god am i glad to see that one die

  

XXXXX

 

 **anonymous** asked: What’s an offer sheet?

 

 **aces90** answered:

so basically what happens when a hockey player reaches the end of his contract he becomes an RFA (restricted free agent) by meeting certain criteria (years played, age) meaning that he can’t be scooped up by just any team yet (which is a UFA or unrestricted free agent). the team he belongs to has until a certain deadline to make a qualifying offer for that player, which, if accepted, becomes their new contract.

if the player rejects it, they remain an RFA and don’t play with that team (another offer can be negotiated) but have until a deadline in december to negotiate – a pretty popular example is troubs and the jets.

but there’s another option! another team can make an offer sheet for that player while they are still an rfa. if the player signs the offer sheet, their original franchise (in jack’s case, the falcs) have 7 days to either match (jack would continue playing with the aces, the offer sheet becoming his new contract) or accept it, in which case the player moves to the new team. BUT the player has to sign the offer sheet otherwise nothing happens at all. the player might sign to force his team’s hand, but doesn’t really want to play for the new team. another important detail is if the team doesn't match (the falcs) and the player (jack) is moved to the new team (lva), the old team gets a whole host of draft picks to make up for it.

there’s a few other finicky details which jack just slides by. he was still 27 before july 1, 2018 and he received a qualifying offer (which the falcs dragged their feet on). october is nearly over so it’s amazing this squeaked by. either way we’ll be seeing jack on the ice again soon!

 

 **67 notes** _#anonymous #hockey primer #sorry i rambled a bit it’s a tricky concept so i wanted to get as much info out as possible #nana’s hockey tag_

 

 **anonymous** asked: any news on hockeee?

 

 **aces90** answered:

i blocked them after the kent and jack in boston thing. they cant reblog my posts anymore so i feel pretty safe in talking about how psyched i am to see jack and kent on nhl ice on the same team. it’s all very exciting and i would like to enjoy hockey in peace. please don’t ask me about them again.

 

 **4 notes** _#anonymous_ _#hockey wank for ts #im sorry guys im just so tired of all the drama_

 

 **anonymous** asked: where did the falconers go wrong? They won a cup and should’ve been able to keep going

 

 **aces90** answered:

jack zimmermann is a fantastic player and they struck gold signing him and the team that won the cup was _strong_ and good. they made the right call switching jack to the first line early on in that first season. what happened is they took the wrong approach trying to capitalize off of jack who is a strong centre and power forward). he’s historically done well with a great winger usually someone who’s quicker & less physical than him (check out these clips from the Q and the NCAA). the falcs did well with both wingers being easily available to jack.

But when they tried to get a winger partner for jack, the falcs gm made some missteps and lost their defense along the way. for whatever reason after they won the cup they traded snowy their goalie and started using their backup and got a rookie to replace him. then they shuffled their defensemen and lost some great partners. all to get a mediocre winger and second line centre from a deal that fell through. jack’s a great player but he can’t be their defensemen, goalie, and forwards. they were a one line team with no depth. at the same time a few vets retired in the past three seasons which hurt them a lot.

the falcs are looking for a new dynasty now and are looking for young talent to cultivate as seen by the trading off of their remaining vets. theyll get draft picks from the aces as compensation, which is probably what they are looking for here.

 

 **40 notes** _#anonymous #hockey primer #nana’s hockey tag #im not a big falcs fan so i had to do some research on their lineup changes but i hope this helps!_

 

XXXXX 

 

 **NHL NEWS** @nhlnewssource

‼️BREAKING‼️

Falcs 🦅 GM announces they won’t be matching #JackZimmerman’s offer sheet. Looks like @NHLaces have a new power forward to fill the void! ♠️♠️

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

_replying to @nhlnewssource_

what a much needed breather since troy got moved to the second line and carl took his place last season. zimmerman and parser are going to light it up on the first line #linemates

 

 **Laurel!!** @parseyv

_replying to @nhlnewssource, @hodsomn_

that’s if the aces decide to play them on the same line. it would be more effective to keep them separate on the first two lines. two strong goal scoring lines would dominate. think malkin and crosby. depth is good.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GMTW - a popular online abbreviation for general managers is GM followed by the initials of the GM
> 
> Tbqh I’m a bigger Zimbits fan than Pimms but I’m a bigger fan of the overall trope of ‘falling apart then coming back together.’ Which looking at Jack and Kent, really fits them. Anyways there’s some pretty major mole hills to get over here and I always enjoy characters having in depth discussions about feelings because I’m big on catharsis and healthy talks about emotions.
> 
> I accidentally wrote an extensive canon for Kent Parson and now I don’t know what to do with all this information, I might have to put it to use somehow because I’ve only peppered some throwaway lines to it here. I’m not American so my thought process works like this: ‘Kent is from the state of New York therefore Kent is from New York City, the only place in New York because I don’t understand how New York works.’ 
> 
> I’ve been trying to discern what position everyone places based on context clues. Kent is right-handed (but sometimes it changes??) and Bitty is solidly left-handed as shown in the art. It’s implied that Bitty is the right-winger when the starting lineup is announced (LW-C-RW). And just because I wanted to emphasize the important of both Kent and Bitty in Jack’s life, I couldn’t have Kent and Bitty play the same position when it looks like Kent plays on the right. So now I have a conundrum of the a left-handed RW and a right-handed LW but that just makes it more fun. Should this all be proven wrong I will go through the process of editing this entire thing. Jack is a left-handed centre so that’s easy enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, left kudos, and commented on the first chapter! It really means a lot to me get so much support. I've been working on this fic since July and let it sit for a few months and when I came back found I didn't enjoy it as much, so I'm glad people are liking it so far.
> 
> Still struggling with formatting, so again I apologize.
> 
> In the end notes I've written up an explanation of who the Aces are and how I created them from what I've gleamed from canon.

**THE BOYS**

 

From **Holster** 7 _:01 am_ :

Helluva news headline to wake up to

 

From **Holster** 7 _:02 am_ :

What is PVD even thinking??

 

From **Holster** 7 _:03 am_ :

Jack are you okay man this is some life altering news :(((

 

From **Ransom** _7:10 am_ :

Holster’s yelling woke me. What the fuck falcs? This is so messed up.

 

From **Holster** _7:12 am:_

Ikr? What a clusterfuck they’re throwing everything away

 

From **Ransom** _7:15 am:_

For like another five years of Aces’ domination. Which, I’m sorry Jack, but I feel very conflicted about. I need the Leafs to bring the Cup home.

 

From **Shitty** _7:18 am:_

signing the offer sheet was a risky move. i hate that it turned out this way.

 

From **Shitty** _7:21 am:_

you guys are roommates why are you having this conversation through the groupchat and not like through telepathy?

 

From **Ransom** _7:24 am:_

We’re commiserating with the group, man.

 

From **Shitty** _7:32 am:_

nothing from Jack. he’s either on his run or still asleep.

 

From **Bitty** _7:46 am:_

Lord. This is so horrible y’all. Jack loved playing for the Falconers...

 

From **Ransom** _7:49 am:_

Sometimes your franchise betrays you. I’ve always tried to put it out of my mind how hard it must be getting traded away from a team you love.

 

From **Bitty** _7:56 am:_

I’m sending a care package! I’ll make sure to include your favourites, Jack. A touch of home when you head out to Vegas :(

 

From **Holster** _8:03 am:_

This doesn’t even feel real

 

From **Bitty** _8:04 am:_

I don’t think Jack should be alone.

 

From **Shitty** _8:05 am:_

today’s my day off, i’ll drive down to Providence. i’ll update everyone when I can

 

From **Bitty** _8:10 am:_

Thanks Shitty. Sending my love from Georgia <3 <3

 

To **Group** _9:05 am:_

Montreal is going to bring the Cup home, Rans.

 

From **Holster** _9:06 am:_

Jack! it’s good to hear from you. Rans hasn’t stopped screaming since we’ve heard the news!

 

From **Ransom** _9:07 am:_

Yeah because I’m the loud one...

 

To **Group** _9:12 am:_

Thanks for the concern everyone, but I’m okay.

 

To **Group** _9:14 am:_

You don’t need to drive here, Shitty. Enjoy your day off, I know you don’t get many.

 

From **Bitty** _9:18 am:_

Jack!! You really had me worried there. I’ve baked myself into a bit of predicament here waiting for an update.

 

To  **Group** _9:22 am:_

Thanks, Bits.

 

To  **Group** _9:30 am:_

Sorry to worry everyone.

 

To  **Group** _9:33 am:_

I’ve been on the phone all morning. There is a lot to sort out. Vegas wants me on ice for the next home game.

 

To  **Group** _9:34 am:_

Getting traded is a lot of work haha.

 

From **Shitty** _9:45 am:_

vegas’ next home game is in two days! that’s insane that they expect you to be game ready by then.

 

From **Ransom** _9:47 am:_

When do you fly out?

 

To  **Group** _9:52 am:_

Tonight so I can be at practice tomorrow morning. I’m just sorting out where I’m going to stay.

 

From **Bitty** _9:56 am:_

But you have a life in Providence. A home. How do they expect you to pack up your life in a couple of hours???

 

To **Group** _10:02 am:_

My mom is flying in from Montreal to pack up. Both the Falconers and Aces have been very supportive.

 

From **Holster** _10:05 am:_

“Supportive” :///

 

To **Group** _10:09 am:_

Really it’s okay. I’m still getting to play and that’s all that matters.

 

To **Group** _10:11 am:_

Thanks everyone. :)

 

XXXXX

 

Everyone’s already out on the ice, a few drills deep, by the time Jack arrives.

Kent’s working with one of the rookie forwards who has just been called up from the AHL, Connelly, on his back checking. It’s his speciality, quickly flipping the switch from offense to defense. Cutting back across the ice in an attempt to recover the puck, head up and reading the situation. Kent’s always been fast so it comes naturally to him, but that doesn’t mean he can't impart any knowledge. Flipping back was easy, but his defensive game took some work. They’re working on hard stops and turning around. Connelly is larger, not lean like Kent, and therefore somewhat slower. With practice though, the rookie could work it into muscle memory. He won’t be able to turn on a dime like Kent, but Connelly’s edges can definitely become cleaner.

“Troy!” Swoops shouts out from other end of the ice.

He and Scraps are working with the new associate coach. There’s this idea for them to be partners. Kent doesn’t think Swoops' and Scraps' play styles really mesh. Swoops is young, exuberant, and mouthy but slippery and ill-suited to confrontation. Scraps is quietly intense and tends to psyche out players through his silence and size, but isn't afraid to drop his gloves. Privately, Kent thinks it’s because they both have chemistry with him and the coaches wants Kent playing with people he really trusts. Scraps, Troy, and Kent may not have been line mates, but when they were on the ice – they were explosive. The power play unit with the three of them was golden. The coaching staff are looking for a new shift set up to emulate it.

When Kent heard about the offer sheet – he knew the Front Office was looking to complete the Parson line. He doesn’t want to come across as self-centred, but it’s the truth. He’s _the_ Ace. Everyone wants to capitalize on him for as long as possible. And for as long as Kent has been playing professional hockey, every GM has dreamed of having the Zimmermann-Parson matched set. The Aces got the jackpot here. (Kent only thinks that way because he has already seen half a dozen headlines using the same Vegas pun.)

The thought crosses Kent’s head at the same time that Jack steps out on the ice. He’s wearing a brand new Aces’ practice jersey. There's no number on it yet. The real jersey, still number one as kindness from the Aces, will be presented tomorrow. Of course it will be lacking the A. Scraps has one and Koci was recently given the second one. Belatedly, Kent wonders if the Zimmerman jersey is available for purchase yet. A few keen fans have likely already ordered custom jerseys, spinning a wheel if Jack keeps his number or not. 

“I brought the fresh meat with me!” Troy announces.

He smiles directly at Kent.

Still tied to the team, Troy immediately volunteered to put Jack up while he looks for a new place. Maybe he sees it as a passing of the torch thing. From the former Aces 1C to his likely successor. Or, Kent thinks somewhat viciously, it’s because Troy put up with Kent during the worst of his ‘getting over Jack Zimmermann’ phase. Back when Kent was a rookie, brand new to the NHL and completely alone, abandoned by his best friend. (Though Kent had gone to Samwell to pressure Jack into joining the Aces when he lived alone. The isolation may have been a factor. Troy had been Kent’s voice of reason for many years.)

Either way, Kent still thinks Jack is in good hands. Troy is reliable and supportive. And Kent doesn’t have to worry about Troy spilling his deep dark secrets. Which Jack probably knows about to some degree. Other than the drunk crying at four in the morning. And other equally pathetic instances when Kent was still utilizing poor coping methods to try and get over Jack.

Jack looks around the ice, shuffling from skate to skate. It’s subtle but Kent sees the nerves. His mouth is drawn tight and his eyes are shut off. He’s fucking bummed at having to move. Kent feels that. 

“Huddle up!” Coach Keller calls.

Kent skates over with the crowd. He takes a place in the middle, between Swoops and Scraps. Scraps bumps his shoulder and they share a meaningful look. Kent gives him a half smile. He’s excited to have Jack here and he hopes Scraps can pick that up through his own anxiety of  _having_ _Jack_ _physically_ _here._ On his rink. In his home. With his team. _On_ his team.

“Jeff,” Coach Keller says warmly. “I’m glad you could drop by.”

“Thanks for not revoking my security clearance yet,” Troy replies. “Looking good out there boys.”

He smiles easily, completely at home. There’s some scattered cheers. A few mumbled thank yous. Mostly from the rookies not really sure how to handle the situation. Troy is kind of like the weird uncle whose mom’s sister divorced but the older siblings have really good memories with him, while the younger siblings aren’t really sure how to react to him. (Overly specific situation, but Kent’s family is weird.)

“Welcome to the Aces, Jack. We’re glad to have you,” Keller continues.

He reaches out to shake Jack’s hand. A little lost in his thoughts, Jack takes a second to respond. His smile is tight and restrained.

Suddenly filled with the urge to be the leader, Kent pushes himself to the front of the crowd. He welcomes all newcomers to the team. It’s his thing. Lets them know they are welcome here and he’s available to them. Set an example for the rest of team. Why should Jack be any different? That be singling him out and everyone knows it.

Jack finally meets Kent’s eyes. His eyes light up a bit and his smile seems a bit easier. Kent grins at him. There’s a brief second where Kent is apprehensive. Where he’s not sure what to do – if he should bodily welcome Jack like he does everyone else. If he doesn’t do it, not matter what he says, everyone will mark Jack as Other. Someone who’s offended their captain and is therefore unwelcome. That’s the absolute last thing Kent wants – for Jack to hate being here even more than he already does, to possibly hate Kent.

So he reaches out and offers his glove to Jack so they can bump their padded knuckles. Taking Jack’s reciprocity as his invitation, Kent swings around and wraps his arm around Jack’s neck. He tightens – it’s been awhile since they’ve been this familiar – but accepts it. Later Troy will tell Jack that’s how Kent greets all the new guys.

(Being any less than normal will tip everyone else off that something’s wrong.)

“Listen up,” Kent says, “this here is Jack fucking Zimmerman, one of the best goddamn power forwards you’ll ever play with. The complete package deal.”

Jack ducks his head and Kent knows he’s burning up.

“I expect you to treat him like anyone else on the team. I know in the past I’ve told you to go for his ankles when the refs weren’t looking – but no more of that shit,” Kent says as he taps Jack’s skates with his own. “These are our ankles now. Protect them.”

Keller sighs and folds his arms across his chest. Jack whips his head up and stares at Kent as if asking ‘really?’ Kent grins back at him. He tries to project ‘of course I did. We were mortal enemies for a bit.’ Behind Jack, Troy is shaking his head at Kent’s childishness.

“We’re a team and we play as one. So let’s show Jack what is means to be an Ace.”

The guys cheer in agreement. Kent loves his speeches. It’s something he doesn’t need to be modest about because he’s fucking awesome at them. His goal is to do something of a  _Bravehear_ _t_ magnitude. Only Game 7 in the Stanley Cup Final when they’re down by 1 with five minutes on the clock could inspire something of that calibre. Too bad Kent never wants to be in that position, fantastic speeches be damned.

“Okay let’s get back to work!” Keller shouts.

He turns back to his clipboard and to talking with one of the assistants. They must be working on the logistics for tomorrow night’s game. Jack’s first game of the season and his debut as an Ace. Surely Jack is antsy to play after all the shenanigans regarding his contract. Keller knows this and wants to make tomorrow night a smooth transition.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Kent says, privately and just for Jack.

He gets a soft smile before Kent skates back to drills.

Troy walks off the ice to join some of the fans who’ve come to watch the practice. It’s early November and they’ve just started opening practices to the public. Things have calmed down somewhat. There’s a media presence here today, but not for the Aces’ scandal. They want to see Jack and Kent play together. Practice together. Anything together. Just being on the ice has made a few fans clamour closer to the boards.

Keller seems eager to make that happen. He calls Jack to him and they have a discussion over the clipboard. Kent tries to not get caught watching; he’s so damn curious. Jack is stoic, nodding as Keller gets animated in explaining how the Aces’ forwards work. He directs Jack to the other half of the ice with some of vets for warm up drills. Keller and the coaching staff that aren’t working with other players all watch Jack, wanting to see what Jack can do.

Jack has great hands. Great foot work. He’s hitting the mark with all the drills and the vets are happy to have him from the looks of it. Jack keeps smacking the puck, slamming into the empty net over and over again. Watching Jack play up close like this is something Kent hasn’t been able to do for a long time. No animosity and no competition. Just Jack on the ice, doing what he does best.

“So is Jack the quarterback or the cheerleader?” Scraps asks, skating up to Kent.

He passes Kent a puck, offering Kent a cover from the coaching staff since he’s just openly gawking at Jack now. Waiting to see what he does.

“What?” Kent asks.

“In the teen movie fantasy you’re living out in your head since you’re watching Zimmermann with the intensity of a lovesick teenager,” Scraps explains.

“I’m not lovesick,” Kent snaps.

He flicks the puck up and hits Scraps in the chest. Scraps scowls at him and scoops it back up. He snaps his wrists and lobs it back at Kent. It smacks the centre of the Aces logo with a small _doof_. Kent doesn’t bother watching it fall. The puck hits the ice between his feet and sits there, untouched.

“So you don’t deny you’re watching him.”

“I watch all the new players. I want to make sure they fit in,” Kent says. “You’ve called me a mother hen more than a dozen times.”

“But this is more. You want to know if you’re still compatible on the ice; if Zimmermann’s gotten better,” Scraps points out.

Kent shrugs. Scraps knows him too well. Maybe he should bring up the other half of their drunken three am conversations where Scraps talks about his own insecurities.

“So? It’s a concern. The GM probably made the offer sheet so Zimms and I could play together again,” Kent says. “It’s what everyone’s wanted since 2009.”

“Sure is,” Scraps says. “I’m looking forward to it. We need a good 1C. But is it what _you_ want?”

Kent pauses. Now that’s a loaded question. All he’s wanted for years is to play with Jack again, but having him on the same team – Kent’s team – is more complicated. Yes, Kent wants Jack but does he want him on the Aces? Maybe if they were traded to a neutral team, where neither of them had standing then Kent could answer the question more easily.

“He certainly fits the bill,” Kent finally says.

“You gossiping hens done over there?” Keller shouts at them. “Get over here! We’re scrimmaging to show Jack the ropes.”

“Here’s your chance,” Scraps whispers.

He snatches the puck from Kent’s feet and zips over to Keller. Kent glares at the back of his head, but admits to himself that Scraps is right. He needs to be on Jack’s team for the scrimmage. Keller wants that. He wouldn’t make this practice public if he didn’t want to show off his matching set. (Kent hates thinking of them that way. He and Jack have developed into two, very strong individual players. Sure, they moulded each other into NHL calibre players but then went their separate directions and defined themselves as individuals. He hates thinking of himself as a collector’s item for coaches to play around with as they please. He’s a person and a damn good hockey player. Regardless of how Keller plans on playing Jack.)

Keller quickly divides up the team into four scrimmage groups, with one goalie on two different teams. Unsurprisingly Kent finds himself on the same side of the ice as Jack. Swoops is on the other side, already complaining that the teams are stacked unfairly. Troy says something to him and Swoops laughs. With Troy on the sidelines and the ice between Kent and Swoops, all the sounds gets swallowed up. They both turn to look at Kent with smug looks on their faces. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what the topic of the conversation was.

“Are all your teammates this openly disrespectful or do you only let your friends walk all over you?” Jack asks.

Kent takes a moment to interpret. Surely Jack meant it in jest. However, he said it quietly with a bit of deadpan, so it’s hard to interpret. Kent whirls around to get angry – say something about how his teammates love him. The words die on his lips when he sees the smile curling at Jack’s lips. There’s a wall between the two of them now. Nine years later and they’re finally playing together again. Before this, it was the Memorial Cup Final. They were so much different then. Since then they’ve had dozens of other teammates, learned hundreds of plays, and assisted many other goals. They’ve played longer with others than each other. Who knows what they’ll play like now with all the separate experience between them?

Kent’s positive Jack is as unsure about this as he is. He has more to lose than Kent, who is an established force on the Aces. Who knows what will happen to Jack if he doesn’t play up to the Aces’ standard? Kent doesn’t know the exact details of Jack’s contract, but it could be very ugly if this all goes wrong.

The other three members of their group aren’t really sure what to do. They look from Jack to Kent, probably reading the weird underlying tension. Even the teammates Kent aren’t close with have an inkling of the former bad blood between the two. It’s become a bit of legend on the team. All the rookies, no matter how starstruck, always know not to bring up Jack. (Unless your name is Swoops and you are Kent’s rookie who he is overly fond of and known for being easy on.)

The other team sets up at the centre line, Kent gestures for Jack to take the faceoff. Kent’s a winger, but he’s still been known to take a face off or two. Especially at that start of the season with Troy and Carl, their two best faceoff players, gone. With Jack here, Kent can go back to where he belongs – watching from the wings. He sees everything better from the left side. During scrimmages he likes to be particularly keen and offer advice to his teammates.

No captain is expected to do as much as Kent does, but he likes being a leader. He likes guiding the rookies. The coaches catch a lot watching from the sides and watching the tapes. But Kent can correct them on the fly. Help them adjust in the middle of a play. Some say captains aren’t really necessary, but Kent knows his team appreciates everything he puts into the game.

The line of Jack’s shoulders change as he skates up to the centre line. He was tight and tense but he easily morphs into the natural player he is. There’s a confidence and readiness that just emerges from nowhere. Kent smiles as he moves into his own spot. Ready on Jack’s left.

When one of the assistant coaches drops the puck, Kent forces his thoughts away from Jack and into the game, knowing Jack has done the same. Jack wins the face off and forces the puck out to his right. Connelly, easily snatches it and starts down the ice. Swoops meets him and stops him in the tracks.

Kent zips past the defending forward and cuts in front of the other defenseman. Connelly catches his play, passing the puck through Jack’s legs and down to Kent – except Jack intercepts the puck and makes a drive through the centre. Clogging his own damn passing lane. The two defensemen collapse around him. Jack looks up realizing that he’s trapped and passes the puck to one of their defensemen but the forward Kent moved around earlier intercepts it. He struggles to redirect the force Jack shot the puck with.

He makes a messy turn but gets a handle on it before heading back down the ice. Kent frowns but quickly backchecks, keeping a bit of an eye on Connelly. He’s fast enough to catch the forward and cut him off. The puck is sent flying behind the boards but the goalie doesn’t risk playing it and lets it sit. The other team is closing in.

One of their defenseman slips by the net in an attempt to get it out but the other forwards are already there. They are both fourth liners, physical players. Their brute strength easily intimidates the defenseman. Kent’s about to make a move, watching as the puck is about to get loose, but Jack cuts in. He grabs the puck and takes off. He fakes out the other team’s players. Kent’s with him already knowing what’s going on.

The other team don’t see Kent move and are all on trying to stop Jack’s breakaway. Swoops catches up but is still too slow. Jack fires the puck. It’s a bit farther out than Kent’s use to but he just manages to grab it. The power behind it is unimaginable and he makes a messy adjustment to keep control. Kent breathes and takes his shot.

Goal.

Troy whoops from the sidelines, banging on the glass. Kent grins spinning around as he does a celly. Keller is nodding approvingly on the sidelines and scribbles a few things onto his clipboard. One of the assistant coaches is talking, arms crossed. It worries Kent, but Keller shakes his head. The brief anxiety relinquishes its grip on his chest. Jack shouts at him, annoyed Kent wasn’t in the right place.

“Should’ve lifted your damn head and saw where I was at first!” Kent says, telling him off.

The scrimmage continues. Jack doesn’t pass to Kent a lot. He seems to be favouring his right side with Connelly. It’s unsurprising given Jack’s recent history of playing with stronger right wingers. Kent tries not to think to deeply about it. Not even when Jack passes too deep or too short and they lose possession. Kent has a hard time too. Jack’s no longer in the places he remembers and has more than once sent the puck straight at an opposing player. But they both move faster than the others and they fall more and more in step as they learn each other’s new styles.

Jack is bigger and more powerful now. Kent is better at slipping through other players, getting around seemingly impossible blockades. He's finally got smooth hands, after years of Jack's coaching. It's a deadly combination with his edge work but it catches Jack off guard. Kent was still developing his hands in the Q and he and Jack learned to work around Kent's sloppier puck handling. Jack is still making the adjustments. They’re in places neither of them expect, but their skills give them better opportunities to recover the puck when they fuck up.

There’s a competition between them too. One that only came to exist from their time playing against each other in the NHL. When Kent scored the first goal, Jack had to match it. After a point, they become so wrapped up in their attempts to one-up each other they forget about the game. Swoops gets a goal and razzes Kent. Keller yells at the two of them to get their heads’ out of their asses. After that Jack and Kent share a look.

There’s a shift.

If Kent remembers anything from high school science it’s wavelengths. He always liked to think of him and Jack existing on the same one. But after the Draft, their energy levels changed and their wavelengths changed. Now with each play, their energy levels are in flux, coming closer and closer. Emitting and absorbing different energy as they shift around, trying to match each other.

When Keller calls it, Kent feels elated. They won each game in the little scrimmage tournament. Everyone they played with and against played better with Kent and Jack together. Connelly scored his own goal and Kent rattled his helmet, letting the rookie know how proud he is. Connelly beams at him. No one is complaining on the end. Scraps is smiling as he talks about his goal against Swoops’ team. Swoops is still going on about his own goal when he bested Jack.

The coaches dismiss them and let the players pack it up for the day. Kent usually likes to be the last one off, telling each teammate ‘good practice’ or complementing particular players on something he saw. Ideally, he would’ve liked to say something about Connelly’s back checking. But this time is different, he noticed everyone was playing better but was too caught up in managing Jack. Reacting to his stronger passes and keeping their line as a unit.

He bursts into the locker room and rips off his helmet. He whoops loudly and tosses his helmet into his stall. The rest of the team rushes in, equally uplifted by the practice.

“We’re going to kick the Canucks’ ass!” Swoops shouts.

Kent is sure Swoops is at his stall but there’s too much movement in the locker room to be sure. The voice is bodiless. But others cheer in agreement. Kent can’t help but grin as he shucks off his gloves. He feels good about tomorrow’s game. He feels good about having Jack on the team. Despite the anxiety from the night before. Hours spent fretting about potential animosity and disappointing everyone. Instead it looks like they are going to be okay.

He turns away to pull off his practice jersey and tosses it into his stall with the rest of his equipment. The back of his neck prickles and Kent looks over his shoulder to see Jack grinning at him.

“I see you still care the same amount about your stall as you always have,” he says.

“Fuck off,” Kent says good-naturedly. “I’ll clean up later.”

“No he won’t,” Scraps says from beside them.

Jack laughs.

“No respect for your captain,” Kent mutters. “After everything I do for you guys.”

If Jack is surprised by how easily Kent claims him, he doesn’t say anything. Somewhere, deep down, Kent was hoping for any sort of reaction. Jack’s always been the Captain and Kent’s always been his Alternate. It’s the other way around now. Kent wants to know what Jack thinks about Kent’s particular leadership style. It’s in stark comparison to Jack’s more hands-off approach.

Jack lingers. He’s awkward as he looks for something to say. Kent watches him carefully, searching for an indication of his motives. When he can’t find anything, he raises an eyebrow – welcoming Jack to speak.

“We’ll take some work,” Jack says.

Always hockey with this man. Kent relaxes a bit, though. Talking shop with Jack is far easier than anything else.

“But we’ve got a spark,” he continues. “You’re faster than I remember. Your feet are too fancy.”

“My edges are breath-taking, thank you very much,” Kent snarks. “And you put enough force behind the puck it nearly shattered my stick. You know what kind of effort it takes to not lose control of your passes?”

"Your puck handling is far better than juniors, but it still shows you relied on your speed," Jack says. “We have some idiosyncrasies to work through but I think we’ll make a great team.”

He turns and heads off to his new stall, a little down the row from where Kent is. It’s Carl’s old stall. It would’ve been nice if Jack didn’t get the homophobic asshole’s stall but Carl was their first line centre. And Troy’s old stall has already been commandeered by Swoops, since it’s aligned with Kent and Scraps’. Before Jack gets too far, he turns around and looks over his shoulder. He smiles at Kent, soft and fond. Kent’s heart stutters at the sight.

“I’m glad I’m here too, Kenny,” he says quietly enough Kent thinks he’s imagined it.

 

XXXXX

 

Coach Keller wants to start the game with Jack and Kent on separate lines. Kent is a first liner, through and through. He has more than proved himself to the Aces. Jack’s on the second line. Keller said it’s only temporary since it’s clear Jack and Kent are rusty playing with each other. Jack unused to having such a strong player on his left. Back at Samwell, Jack played with Bitty on his right. He was a stronger player with Bitty. And with Kent on Jack’s left, he’s experiencing some culture shock. Kent’s right handed too – which makes his play style somewhat strange. (The others in the Q use to tease Kent by calling him _Double-Double_. A righty but a lefty. A bit of both.)

Keller also wants to build anticipation – make the crowd wait to see Zimmermann and Parson playing together for the first time in the NHL.

That’s what makes Jack’s stomach turn – his anxiety spike beyond the standard game day. The morning skate doesn’t helped. Kent is unusually silent (as far as Jack remembers Kent’s normally chatty game day routine) and flanked by Swoops and Scraps at every turn. Jack desperately wants some sort of interaction with him. A sign he’s welcome on the team, that he belongs here. The majority of the team has genuinely warmed up to him already, but Kent is the gatekeeper. Sure they played well at practice, but there’s a decade of uncertainty between them. That sort of thing doesn’t go away in a handful of conversations.

The media only makes it worse. During the press conference, they all want to talk to Jack. Whenever there’s media, Jack tends to dominate. He always thinks, no matter how well they hide it, his teammates must resent it. Everyone seems to care more about Jack Zimmermann; his legacy, his private life; than the actual game. But there’s a reporter who asks a particularly rude question (the Aces’ scandal, Hopkins’ comments, and Jack’s offer sheet). Jack feels himself pale and feels wane. Suddenly Scraps leaps in. He’s aggressive in answering; quiet and intense. One of the players to Jack’s right elbows him, saying ‘we’re a team now and we got your back.’

It sends him straight to Samwell.

This is the environment Kent fostered. Not all NHL teams are like this. The Falconers were warm and accepting of Jack too. He feels lucky to have another team willing to weather this storm. There’s pride in Kent too. From hotshot loose cannon to legitimate leader.

The coach holds a few meetings and they discuss the plan for today, announcing his plan for Jack to play on the second line. He doesn’t chance a look at Kent but Jack's always grateful for it. He's unable to handle everything that's going on right now. Processing will take some time. There’s a bit out of outrage, but Keller talks them all down. In the end his logic makes sense. Jack is green on the Aces and it will do him some good to adjust. Not to mention it has been a few months since Jack has played a full game. He's kept up with training and routine but it's not the same as full time practice and playing games.

Afterwards, Jack escapes back to Troy’s house. The rest of the team is heading out for a bite, but Jack’s not feeling it. No one pushes him to join them. Some of the veterans understand. It’s hard being traded. The Falconers pre-game ritual must be different, one of the vets even says. Not really. They still eat together. Jack has always preferred being alone before a game. It usually helps him quiet his mind and settle his nerves, locking his brain into hockey plays. Few have ever been privy to Jack’s pre-game alone time.

He spends the better part of game day tucked away in Troy’s guest room skyping with Shitty and working on his breathing exercises. Troy currently lives alone with no kids or partner, so Jack is free to hide without interruption. Even Troy himself seems content to let Jack be. The jury is still out on whether or not that’s a good or bad thing. However, he seems more than pleased when Jack comes upstairs to eat his traditional game day sandwich.

Jeff Troy is Kent’s friend. Perhaps even one of his closest, given how often the two are seen in each other’s company – even after Troy’s retirement. From the little Jack knows about Kent’s life post-Draft, it’s that Troy billeted Kent in the same guest room Jack currently inhabits. There are certain marks that it once belonged to Kent. A stain on the floor, a box with French writing on it Jack’s afraid to open tucked away in the closet buried under extra blankets, and the unmistakeable dents of a puck against the wall. More than a few were probably indirectly caused by Jack.

When it’s time to leave, Jack dresses in his regular suit (it’s navy for the Falconers – he’ll have to get that redone) and Troy drives him down the arena. He asks if Jack wants him to come in too. It’s early and no one other than players and coaching staff have arrived. Some cameras linger around the player’s entrance, but no reporters. Jack’s anxiety is sky-rocketing and he could use the emotional support. But the heavy weight that ‘ _Troy is Kent’s friend_ ’ lingers. It hasn’t bothered Jack until just now. How much does Troy know about Jack? The image is probably similar to the one Jack painted of Kent with his Samwell friends.

So Jack rejects Troy, who smiles and warmly offers him a ‘good game’ in response. He just nods, withdrawing more into himself as he jumps out of Troy’s car.

The anxiety takes a backseat once Jack enters the building. There’s a big show in the locker room between a couple of the players presenting Jack with his new jersey, but Kent isn’t around. Connelly says he’s happy to have Jack on the team. Afterwards, it switches into normal game day things. Music blasts from a speaker and the players are goofing around with each other. Tossing around a ball, laughing and joking. Jack relishes in the community. The music and activity isn’t his thing – he enjoys silence – but it’s nice to see the constants between teams in terms of pre-game rituals. A lot of players just like to have fun; taking it easy.

No one is dressed yet, still messing around. Jack disappears into the background, taking in the noises. It’s the same as in Providence. He jumps on a bike to burn off some anxious energy and watches the guys out of the corner of his eye. Everything is invariable, even though a few of the game day traditions vary. Returning to the locker room, Jack is dismayed to see Kent’s belongings have disappeared from his stall. Though he wasn’t paying much attention, Jack had hoped to see him. Surely Kent’s own game day traditions haven’t changed but Jack didn’t catch him playing soccer in the halls. Good for a quick laugh and dispel tension and nerves, Kent's personality was always a welcome distraction from getting stuck in your head before a game.

A few reporters get locker room access and start milling around after awhile. Jack learned how to seem unapproachable in the early days, especially when he didn’t feel like speaking with the press. He puts his walls up high, focusing on getting his equipment ready. He gives the social media coordinator a thumbs up, mostly for the fans. He'll never see the Snapchat or Tweet or Instagram post, but he knows the fan appreciate these little glimpses. The coordinator had been following him for the past two days, making sure to catch everyone of his firsts as an Ace. 

He dresses quickly and slips out of the locker room. When he stands in his skates, his rubber legs seem to solidify. Sure this is a new team, but Jack can play hockey. It doesn’t truly matter where he plays it. Hockey is universal. He's been in skates as long as he's been wearing shoes. It feels right.

Taking a chance, he peeks down the tunnel and out onto the Aces’ ice. He’s looking forward to playing and hearing the crowd – it’s been too long since his last game. The Aces fan will cheer for him regardless, Jack thinks. They know he’s a strong player and will appreciate having him on the team. Then the puck will drop and Jack’s mind will shut everything out but the game. That’s what he needs now.

The doors of the arena haven’t opened yet. There’s several stadium employees milling around, getting every seat ready. It’s always been amazing, watching them prepare thousands of identical seats. Every fan gets the same, full experience.

That’s when he spots Kent. Carefully gliding around on the ice with his helmet off and a carefree expression on his face. Jack takes a few cautious steps forward as if testing his boundaries. Like someone is going to jump up and tell him get can’t go out there. In Providence, there were strict rules about being on the ice before the warmup. In Vegas, the rules might be different. Or they don’t apply to Kent. But no one stops Jack as he walks out. No one even looks at him as he takes a step onto the ice.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Jack says.

Sort of. Not completely convicted in the search, but enough that there is a palpable relief when Jack sees Kent. He’s not sure if Kent’s been avoiding him all day but there’s definitely been several missed connections.

Kent stops at centre ice and smiles at him. His eyes are green; bright, warm, and filled with life. The pink of his cheeks and nose bring the colour out. Jack prefers when Kent’s eyes are green. It always happens when Kent is happiest, the most free. Jack has a multitude of intimate memories, staring into them and spotting the specks of grey.

“You get your game day PB&J?” Kent asks. “Troy’s doesn’t like peanut butter so I made sure he had some for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jack says.

Kent shrugs. He takes off and skates a short loop. Jack pushes off the edge and follows after him. The two easily gliding around the edges of the rink.

“I thought you might be wound up about the game,” Kent explains. “I didn’t want you to bite Troy’s head off when you found out he doesn’t have any peanut butter.”

His tongue feels thick in his mouth. Jack doesn’t like being micromanaged. And there’s a piece of him, lingering from his years of resenting Kent, that thinks of this as all manipulation tactics. The rational side of Jack knows this is who Kent is now. A thoughtful team player who likes to make sure his teammates are cared for. Especially the newly traded players as they navigate unfamiliar territory.

“Thanks,” Jack finally settles on.

They continue their gentle laps around the rink. Kent doesn’t say much. He just looks around, a soft smile on his face with a touch of amazement. It’s like this is his first time on NHL ice. Jack likes seeing this side of him. Always has. The gentle Kent, not party boy or overly social Kent. The Kent Jack got to see when they were alone.

“In Providence, they don’t let anyone else on the ice until the warm-up,” Jack says.

“That’s rough,” Kent says and he grimaces. “I like to get out on the ice for home games, catch a moment of silence. Remember what I’m playing for.”

“What’s that?”

Kent doesn’t hesitate even though Jack can assume it’s a private answer. This is Kent’s alone time, which has changed since their time in the Q. Kent liked to be with the team during the pre-game. Now there’s no one else out here with them. It’s probably an unspoken rule to give Kent his space on the ice. (Jack’s faintly curious to know when the shift happened. When Kent went from extroverted game day traditions to introverted.)

“The fans. Even if they aren’t here yet,” Kent admits. “Really puts things in perspective seeing the empty seats. Then the roaring crowd in a couple of hours. You’d think Vegas wasn’t a hockey town – but the people here live for the sport.”

“Really?” Jack asks.

Kent nods.

“Surprised me too. It’s crazy how the fans get. When we won the Cup for the first time it was like a non-stop party,” Kent says. “Vegas has a shitty reputation, but the people are amazing. I love them and I’m proud to play for them.”

“I can’t wait to be on their good side,” Jack says.

“They already love you,” Kent promises. “Best jersey sales in some time.”

They spend the rest of the time in silence. If Kent is bothered by Jack’s intrusion, he doesn’t say anything. Jack enjoys himself too. Time on the ice is a natural remedy to Jack’s anxiety. It’s still there, thrumming under his skin as his heart beats too fast and jumps to his throat. But his mouth isn’t as dry and he doesn’t feel like his legs will collapse under him.

After awhile, Kent slaps his back.

“We should head to the locker room, Keller will be pissed if we miss the last meeting before warm-up,” he says.

Jack nods and follows Kent off the ice. He’s a few paces behind, still on the ice when Kent hits the landing. But Kent turns around, looking over his shoulder at Jack. There’s an odd expression on his face. Like he can’t believe Jack is really there. So Jack musters his best self-assuring smile and Kent lights up.

Then Kent turns around and disappears into the tunnel. Jack hurries after him. They arrive in the locker room just as Keller shows up.

“Cutting it close, Cap,” Swoops teases as Kent drops into his stall.

Kent adds a bit of exaggerated swagger which causes Keller to snap at him. There’s a mumbled ‘sorry, coach’ but it doesn’t have much heart to it. Keller sighs long-sufferingly.

Jack does his best to ignore the glances of his new teammates as he makes his way to his own stall. Dropping into it, Connelly leans over and whispers to him:

“How did you get in on Parser’s private ice time? Not even Troy was allowed out there.”

Jack doesn’t respond. He can’t. He just doesn’t know how. What could he even say? That he and Kent are different? That their relationship is special? Sure, it was, but Jack’s not so sure anymore. Especially now that they are starting back at ground zero. Did Kent just tolerate him since Jack didn’t know any better? Maybe Kent assumed Jack assumed Kent’s ritual was still loud and surrounded by others and instead of telling him off and making it weird, just let Jack stay.

Connelly doesn’t press the issue and snaps to attention as Keller starts to talk. Jack does too, listening as Keller reasserts their earlier discussions. Kent’s on first. Jack’s on second. Talking about the Canucks’ starting lineup and how their lineup is meant to counter it. It’s pretty standard stuff. Everyone’s dismissed, warm-up starts, and before Jack knows it he’s on the ice playing his first game as a Las Vegas Ace.

His anxiety vanishes on the ice and he shuts his brain off. His hockey isn’t mechanical. Just fluid as his body knows exactly how to operate. It thinks on its own, responding to the situations presented on the ice. Hockey is easy. It’s always been easy. Even when wracked with self-doubt, the muscle memory just took over and proved even on Jack’s worst day, he was still something else on the ice.

The Canucks can’t beat them. Swoops and Scraps are still learning each other, but they’re stopping the Canucks enough. Kent breaks through the defense and gets shot after shot on net. Jack too. They may not be getting the puck in but it’s proof that they can. Kent scores once in the first and Scraps in the second. Swoops assists on both. The second period is uneventful as the Canucks’ D has started to figure out Kent and Jack separately. How Kent likes to cut across the front and how Jack can barrel straight through their defensive line.

During the second intermission Keller drops his bomb. He’s putting Jack on the first line with Kent. The crowd goes wild when the two skate out together. Jack can barely resist the grin that comes up. This is what everyone’s been waiting for. They sure made everyone wait for it, but delayed gratification makes it better. This period will be seen on highlight reels for years to come. People at home are tuning in to the game as their friends text them about what’s happening. Social media is exploding like fireworks.

But things start off rough. Novak grabs the puck around the net and leaves it behind for Jack, choosing not to play it. He’s use to having fired out for him, but Novak likes to play as a more relaxed goalie and slow down the play. Kent barks out his name as the Canucks close in for the opportunity. Jack barely recovers, catching the puck as Novak scrambles back into goal (Jack gets a nasty look for that one). He manages to poke it through the attackers’ legs and to Swoops, who clears it and only just manages to prevent an icing call. Keller recalls their line immediately. Connelly is sour and Kent shoves his shoulder. Jack grips his stick tighter and squeezes his eyes shut, angry at himself. He can see the media continue with the Mediocre Zimmermann parade in his head already.

It fills his brain too. The familiar patterns of failure. It’s like Jack can feel everyone tuning off; changing the channel to a different game. It’s his fault.

“Hey,” Kent says. “It happens. Let it go, Zimms.”

Jack looks at Kent. He swallows and nods jerkily. It does happen. He’s new to the team with no chemistry between him and the others. It will come in time. They wait until it’s their line again. The second line lead by Koci is strong and Keller keeps them out until the last possible second. Kent bounces on the boards, slapping Connelly on the back as he waits for the shift change. He turns to Jack and he’s never looked more alive.

"Are you ready to show them what we’ve got?” Kent asks.

There’s a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Jack doesn’t need to respond. Kent knows the answer. They get on the ice and everything falls in place. The passing lanes are open, the Canucks defense can’t figure them out. Connelly gets the puck, passes it to Kent who drives it down the ice, and Jack takes it home. It’s not quite their no-look one-timer. They’re not at that level yet, but it’s close. More like a some-look one-timer. The crowd erupts. Even the Canucks’ players seem impressed.

“Bamboozled,” Swoops says as they meet up in celebration after the goal.

“No one says bamboozled,” Scraps mutters.

Kent laughs. His mitt is on the back of Jack’s head pressing their helmets together. Jack is laughing too. His chest swelling in jubilation. Everything is so loud and overwhelming but Kent is right there. His smile is real and goofy and he’s completely exposed to Jack. Heart on display – the picture perfect moment after a goal. Pressed together in that moment, Jack gets swallowed up by it. He wants it to last an eternity, lost in Kent’s bright green eyes and listening to his laugh almost lost in the din of the arena and their teammates. It resonates through every fibre in Jack’s being – sending him back to a time when it was only the two of them.

When the moment ends, Kent is still there. He’s not as raw, having tapered off as the moment ends. But He’s still there, smiling devilishly at Jack. _Let’s get another one._ Kent is so real and tangible and – _oh._

They beat the Canucks 4-0. A goal for Jack, Kent scoring a second near the end of the game – his classic buzzer beater (an oldie but a goodie. The fans love it), and the one for Scraps. Jack gets the assist for Kent’s second goal. The third period mirrors itself, Kent and Jack’s goals in perfect symmetry. (Though a great game, there’s not too much to be proud of in beating the Canucks – they’ve been struggling this season.)

The locker room is buzzing. No one can keep their hands to themselves. Slapping backs and rubbing helmets. Jack loves this moments above all else.

“First rounds on me!” Kent shouts out.

Everyone cheers. The interviews and media harassment whiz by. Jack barely remembers what he said. His head is buzzing from the high of winning and playing with the Aces and Kent. He thinks he manages a few lines about how happy he is to be here. That he’s glad it worked out. ‘Worth the wait’ he says more times than he’s ever said in his entire life. Kent seems to be faring better, chatting up a storm but he talks a lot when he’s hyped. Only the recaps later will tell. (Boy, do they make fools of themselves. The Samwell group chat is lit up with a gif of Jack’s continually glazed over look. Swoops keeps sending Kent a clip of him barely speaking English as he babbles on.)

In the end, they wind up at a bar. Not a common occurrence, Scraps promises Jack on the drive over. Just on the really, _really_ good games and not when they are overly important (meaning Playoffs).Everyone at the bar seems to know exactly who they are (expected) but the waitresses know all their preferred drinks which makes Jack dubious at Scraps’ claim.

“You don’t have a car right?” Kent asks.

He appears out of nowhere. It’s hard to keep track of anyone in the mass of hockey players. They’re constantly moving and the dark of the bar isn’t making it easier.

“Not yet,” Jack says.

It’s still in Providence. His dad is going to drive it up sometime next week and then come to watch Jack play as an Ace. Jack is trying his best to not think about it.

“Cool, I’ll drive you home so Troy can get his beauty sleep,” Kent says.

He claps his hands to finalize the decision. Before Jack can even get his retort out (“Stop micromanaging me. I can take a cab.”), Kent has flitted away. His presence is immediately replaced by Swoops, who slings his arm over Jack’s shoulders. They are about the same height and build, so neither of them are too uncomfortable.

“Let him baby you,” Swoops says.

“I’m a 28 year old man,” Jack asserts.

“Parser doesn’t mean it in an insulting way,” Swoops continues as if Jack never spoke. “He likes to take care of the new guys.”

Jack is not a 100% on board with Swoops’ assessment initially. But as the night goes on and the Aces get drunk and head home,Kent stays sober. He never stays anywhere too long, moving from group to group and talking to everyone. Kent laughs with every member of the team, teasing the rookies and getting razzed himself by the vets (though there are few who are older than Kent and Jack here). Shining brightly, Kent’s charisma and boisterousness are on complete display; bold and not holding himself back. Jack can’t help but watch him. Kent is _alive_. He has always been magnetic, his personality strong and captivating, but something about finally watching Kent from the outside makes him more mesmerizing to watch.

Since Kent is Jack’s ride (even though this was never up for any debate), Jack stays to the very end. Until it’s just Scraps, Swoops, Jack, and Kent. Swoops has had a few too many and Scraps took a shot for his goal. Jack’s had a two beers – nothing too crazy. Definitely nothing to catch Kent’s attention as Jack notices him watching how much alcohol Jack has consumed. The worry is understandable, but Jack’s got a grip on himself. Not that Kent would know anything about Jack’s recovery.

At the end of the night, Kent pays off the tabs together. Scraps’ shot was purchased by Kent and he only nursed a single beer for the rest of the evening. Jack protests but Kent waves him off. Swoops on the other hand babbles out a myriad of thank yous. Privately, Jack thinks Kent picking up of the tab was more for Swoops’ benefit. And it would be rude to ignore Jack and Scraps. Jack would not have. (He doesn’t know Scraps well enough yet to make the same broad statement, but Jack gets the feeling Scraps wouldn’t mind either.)

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Kent says fondly.

He wraps his arm around Swoops’ back, who immediately unloads all his weight onto Kent. There is a bit of a height difference, the perfect amount to make managing Swoops significantly more difficult. Bracing his hand on Swoops’ chest, Kent starts to make the walk to the parking lot.

Scraps shakes his head, in no rush to help.

“That’s what Parser gets for enabling the kid,” he remarks.

But Jack steps in, offering his own strength. His arm rests on top of Kent’s as they carry Swoops out, his feet barely moving on the ground. They reach Kent’s car much faster and all but throw Swoops in the backseat.

“Love you guys,” Swoops mumbles. “M’hockey mom and dad.”

“You’re the mom,” Jack says to Kent.

“Obviously,” Swoops agrees. “He’s far more nurturing.”

Kent rolls his eyes and slams the door shut. Scraps meanders out after them and says good night before disappearing into the car Jack arrived in.

“Shall we?” Kent says.

Jack nods and walks around the car, jumping into the passenger seat. Kent yawns as he presses the start button. He looks exhausted with heavy bags under his eyes and pale skin. Jack is sure he doesn’t look much better. The game took a lot out of him. He drank the right amount of alcohol to make him just tired and not quite buzzed.

“I’ll crash on your couch,” Jack says.

“Let me take you back to Troy’s,” Kent fires back immediately as if he was prepared for Jack to speak.

"He lives forty minutes from here. You live 10,” Jack reasons. “I’m not making you drive around for another hour and half when you’re clearly exhausted just because you feel the need to be macho and show off. I get it and you don’t need to do that for me. I’ll sleep on your couch.”

Kent looks ready to argue. His mouth hangs open.

“Kenny,” Jack says.

It snaps shut and his jaw is tight for a few seconds before he relaxes.

“Alright to Chez Parson,” Kent announces.

“Casa de Parson,” Swoops says.

“Nah it’s Chez, buddy.”

Swoops doesn’t respond. There’s only shuffling as he rearranges himself in the backseat to get more comfortable.

Most of the car ride is silent. The radio is a soft buzz. An AM sports channel with heavy static retells the highlights of the various games across the NHL. Kent’s yawns punctuate the silence every so often. Jack taps his fingers on the armrest. Vegas is bright and lively despite the hour. There’s a certain appeal to it – a beauty – Jack hasn’t seen before. He is use to sleepy college towns and historic Montreal (he grew up in the suburbs, but the city was a stone’s throw away). Vegas has its perks. Jack can learn to love it.

Together, Jack and Kent walk Swoops up to Kent’s penthouse. They dump Swoops in his bedroom before Jack settles on the couch. Kent keeps moving. A bottle of gatorade and aspirin at Swoops’ beside, blankets and pillows for Jack, and a change of clothes Kent swipes from Swoops’ closet since they’ll fit better.

Finally, Kent collapses on the couch as Jack settles in. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. The tiding does nothing. It still curls up at the top of his head.

Kent is put together – responsible and respectable in a way Jack never knew. He wonders when Kent got his shit together.

Certainly not in the Draft aftermath where their lives dramatically separated. Kent was so alone then, with no guidance. Same with Jack, though he had his parents’ support and many doctors. He was still completely isolated and without the one constancy he had had for the past two years. Then again, they would’ve been alone either way. Had they both gone on to play in the NHL after the Draft, an entire country would’ve been between them.

It must be the alcohol because Jack says this thought aloud. It’s impulsive and self-destructive, but he says it anyway. Kent freezes and gives him a careful once-over, like he’s not sure what Jack’s angle is. It takes him a long moment to speak. When he does, it’s slow and careful. Planned out as to not upset Jack.

Before Jack was offer sheeted, they spoke primarily through texts. It was easier to avoid difficult topics. Now in person, they both have to tiptoe around each other. With Kent’s eyes a stormy blue, Jack knows he could easily fall into the times gone by. Good or bad. It would be a flip of a coin, but either way they would end up in an ugly place. But they both know to wisely look over their words first (maybe not Jack at this exact moment with lowered inhibitions).

“But at least I would’ve had someone going through it with me. Despite how far apart we were,” he says, voice clipped and disaffected.

With that, Kent stands and offers a quiet ‘night’ before disappearing down the hall. Jack is left with Kent’s parting thought, mulling it over in his head before the exhaustion and the toll of anxiety call him to sleep.

 

XXXXX

 

**NHLer WATCH: Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann (LVA)**

_Nicole Hyde | @nikkih34 | 3:38 pm_

Last night was it folks! Since 2009 every fan of the fame has waited for this moment: Zimmermann and Parson playing  _together on NHL ice._ At last! It was excellent as analysts and fans alike had been predicting for years. The two tore up the ice and decimated the Canucks with a healthy 4-to-nothing game. After any good performance done by wealthy young men, the Aces spent the night partying.

Sources say Zimmermann and Parson left together. A sight for sore eyes since the two reportedly have been on bad terms since 2009. Yikes! This morning the two seemed friendly enough as they picked up breakfast from a bakery a few blocks down from Kent’s $1.2 million penthouse near the Vegas Strip.

Neither seemed overly hungover other than Parson’s normally wild hair and Zimmermann’s suddenly unruly flow (covered by what looks like a well-loved and well-worn LVA hat). Though Kent’s eyes were hidden by aviators, Zimmermann’s showed off the exhaustion from a night of partying. It’s enough to get people worried about the chemical mixture Parson and Zimmermann create. Zimmermann’s 2009 rehab visits allegedly even worries his teammates. Former _and_ current.

They picked up enough for food to feed a small army. Or three NHLers since a certain defenseman is still crashing in Parson’s guest bedroom shown by Zimmermann’s borrowed shirt. Has Zimmermann decided to move in or will he look for his own place?

_(Attached are several lower resolution images of Jack and Kent walking out of a small bakery with two bags full of white boxes. Jack’s wearing a tattered old Aces’ hat and a faded Texas Stars’ shirt that doesn’t quite fit. Kent is wearing aviators and a plain white shirt.)_

 

XXXXX

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

Y’all catch that game last night @kparsony90 and #JackZimmermann were 🔥

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

_replying to @NHLaces_

i mean they were a bit sloppy in places but i guess that’s what you get after ten years of not playing together. can’t wait to see how they improve.

 

 **Laurel!!** @parseyv

_replying to @NHLaces_

AMAZING! i am constantly blown away by the talent this team has. @hodsomn is right though they are rough around the edges and threw away a lot of great opportunities

 

 **Laurell!!** @parseyv

_replying to @parsevy_

I ALSO FORGOT: their score was so high because kent’s deadly accurate and no one can figure out his #fancyfeeties

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

_replying to @parseyv_

right?! The canucks were LOUSY. aces couldn’t capitalize on it and might’ve obliterated them if parser and zimmermann weren’t playing with each other. 1/?

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

_replying to @parseyv_

it felt like keller was trying to shoehorn the whole ‘reunion’ angle but the two weren’t ready to play together. i’m glad he only really put them together in the third period. fans were expecting a lot and they were good 2/?

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

_replying to @parseyv_

just not amazing like everyone was dreaming about. their movements were mechanical (like any freshly traded player) but parser and zimmermann had more tension esp. since zimmermann heavily favoured his right side with connelly (3/3)

 

 **brad k.** @falcsfan

_replying to @NHLaces_

why couldn’t he have played like this with the falcs? absolute disgrace!

 

XXXXX

 

“I never saw myself as a Vegas fan,” Ransom says tugging at the Aces shirt Parse had forced into all of their hands as they arrived. “I feel like I’m betraying my boys back home.”

Flying to Vegas for an impromptu weekend together hurt the bank but they all refused to allow Jack to pay for it. He had been more than willing – having more money than he knows what to do with. What better to do than spoil his friends? But the four of them – Shitty, Ransom, Holster, and Lardo – all had some extra cash set away for a rainy day. What better way to use it than catching a home game of your best bro’s new team? And it was in Vegas, so they made a vacation of it. Each of them had received Aces merchandise upon arrival, thrust upon them by Parse. They’ve all conspired and agreed that Jack made him do it, to make up for them having to travel to Vegas. (Even though they all really wanted to come to Vegas.)

Sitting in the bar, they’re all wearing some form of it. It makes Jack happy to see them support his new team. They loved the Falconers too – but they let Jack down. The Aces are their new bandwagon (other than their own personal teams they follow), regardless of feelings about Kent Parson. Though the Aces being a really good team does make it easier to cheer for them.

“You’re either talking about the Bruins or the Leafs, I can’t decide which is worse,” Shitty says. 

“It’s the Leafs,” Holster says. “Rans would never willingly cheer for an American team.”

“Other than the Aces,” Ransom says quickly.

He shoots Holster a glare. Jack and Parse are at the bar, picking up the next round, but Holster’s voice carries far more than he’s aware. The last thing Ransom, or anyone of them, wants is for Jack to think they don’t support his new team. The transition is rough and they all want to support Jack as much as possible.

“Sorry,” Holster says ducking his head.

He’s still loud but Ransom pats his back.

“There’s nothing wrong with the Bruins,” Lardo says defensively.

“Boston natives,” Ransom says shaking his head. “It’s okay to admit you’ve been brainwashed into liking them.”

“They’re a good team!” Lardo says.

"I think the lady doth protest too much,” Holster teases.

Lardo punches his shoulder. Holster rubs his arm a bit, wincing.

“How are you so strong?” Holster whines.

“Welding mostly,” Lardo says.

“You should see the equipment she hauls around,” Shitty adds. “I don’t even think I could lift it.”

“Anymore. You have skinny lawyer arms now,” Ransom says.

“The paperwork can be heavy,” Shitty retorts.

They all roll their eyes. The conversation pauses a bit – they’re all tired from the plane ride. They left late Thursday night to make the most of the weekend. They barely got much sleep before Jack and Parse arrived at their hotel – pushing the merch at them and announcing they were heading to a bar. How the two of them have time before tonight’s game is a mystery. Neither of them seem too worried about any repercussions of spending the late morning/early afternoon in a bar.

“Vegas living,” Shitty sighs. “I can’t wait to see the nightlife.”

“This is your place, Shits,” Ransom says. “You’ll take off your clothes and they probably won’t arrest you.”

“Probably,” Lardo emphasizes.

“I’m not about that life anymore, brah,” Shitty says. “I’m respectable and shit now. I am a Bar Certified lawyer. I’m getting my first case to work all on my own. I’m the first one out of the first year associates.”

“Congrats!” Holster shouts. “That’s great news!”

“Damn, why does adult life have to be so hard?” Ransom says.

“Dude you’re still school, settle down,” Lardo says.

“ _Med_ s _chool!_ ” Ransom shouts. “Exams are always right around the corner. Always!”

His voice increases in pitch and causingJack to turn from the bar to look at the table. Shitty gestures things are okay and Jack nods. They’ve been at the bar a long time. It’s not even that busy _and_ they are basically celebrities in Vegas. How long does it take to get drinks?

“It’s your first year,” Holster assures him. “And you took two years off to figure shit out. There’s a bit of a learning curve too. You got this dude, I believe in you.”

Ransom drops his head dramatically onto the table. Holster sympathetically wraps his his arms around his shoulders. Shitty feels like he’s intruding on something private, the way Holster talks to calm Ransom. Their time living together, just the two of them, has made them impossibly closer. Inexorably tied to each other in a way Shitty will never understand.

“God the service at this place is the worst,” Lardo complains. “I’d drink tub juice if I could just get a drink right now.”

“The two of them are just standing there talking,” Holster says. “I don’t even think they’ve ordered drinks.”

Ransom groans. The sound is muffled by the table. Holster pats his back, telling him ‘it’s going to be alright buddy.’

Shitty turns to watch Jack and Parse more fully. Indeed the two of them are just chatting at the bar. Jack’s talking quite fast – faster than Shitty’s ever seen him talk in English. Which means they’ve probably switched to French, a language they likely share from Parse’s time in the Q. But then Parse gives Jack a little slap against the chest with his back of his hand. Jack looks sheepish for a moment as he realizes he was talking too fast for Parse.

Shitty shakes his head fondly. He knows how much Jack likes speaking his first language. There’s rarely enough opportunities living in the States, other than phone calls with his father. He had a few players on the Falconers to talk with, but deeper in the States, French all but disappears. At least with Parse here, Jack can speak French. Shitty appreciates Parse for that, even though he didn’t do anything.

Going against ‘a watched pot never boils,’ the bartender arrives with four rather elaborate drinks. Parse takes a few moments to talk to her and hand her a few bills. She bends down and pulls glasses from under the bar and quickly fills them from the tap. Parse receives one and automatically slides it down to Jack without looking. It fits perfectly in Jack’s awaiting hands.

A matched set, Shitty thinks.

“Damn we need to learn to do that,” Ransom says, out from his brief depressive episode.

“Neither of them even looked!” Holster says. “Look at that synchronicity.”

“They’ve known each other for over ten years what do you expect?” Lardo says.

Ransom and Holster look at each other and grin like they’re promised some sort of unity superpowers at a decade of friendship. Lardo sighs. Shitty shakes his head. Ransom and Holster are far closer than Jack and Parse are. Not only have they played on the ice together but they have six years of a solid friendship. The emotional bond is there. Jack and Parse just have muscle memory of knowing how the other reacts to physical stimuli.

“Four more years, Rans!” Holster says.

“Four more years!” Ransom agrees.

He doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t want to ruin their joy.

“You should throw a party of something,” Lardo says sarcastically. “Have games about how well you know each other.”

“We know when you’re making fun of us,” Holster says.

“But you have to admit that it’s a pretty good idea,” Ransom says.

Holster grins at him.

It’s then Jack and Parse return to the table with the four ridiculous drinks and two beers. Parse slides the ridiculous drinks out to each of them already at the table, keeping the last beer to himself.

“What are you guys talking about?” Jack asks, slipping into the booth next to Shitty.

“ _Ils parlent de nous,”_ Parse mutters. “ _Lunettes est bruyant._ ”

“ _Pas maintenant_ ,” Jack replies.

Kent is standing at the end of the table, clearly not sure where to go. It’s a ‘U’ shaped booth with Holster and Ransom dominating much one side. Lardo sits close to the apex; she likes being at the head of the table. No one moves immediately for him and no one says anything. Until Jack presses his thigh against Shitty’s in silent communication. Shitty sighs a bit and shoves closer to Lardo. She isn’t too pleased to be moved from the head, but there isn’t much of a choice. Parse crams in next to Jack.

“Nothing much,” Shitty says, finally answering Jack’s question.

“ _Tu aurais pu obtenir une chaise_ ,” Jack says, tone clearly teasing.

Parse’s cheeks go a bit pink. He’s embarrassed and uncomfortable being around Jack’s friends. Shitty kind of loves it in a terrible way. They are all the people who know most of Jack’s secrets – Shitty in particular knows all the terrible things Jack’s ever said about Parse. And all of them got to know a different side of Jack. They got to know Jack in college – a piece of Jack Parse will never get a chance to be a part of. The Jack that was recovering from Parse. Damn right he should feel uncomfortable with them.

“It’s rude not to share with the group,” Lardo says.

Ducking his head, Kent mumbles out a bit of an apology.

“Tell us about the drinks!” Holster blurts.

Shitty laughs to see Lardo, Ransom, and Holster investigating the drink with large eyes. Parse looks up and the embarrassment seems to disappear. The cool swagger he carries himself with in public – like when he arrived at the EpiKegster – takes over. Parse would probably make a good lawyer with his ability to slip masks on and off.

“The Aces Special,” Parse grins. “All the rookies have to drink one.”

“What’s in it?” Ransom asks dubiously.

“Captain’s secret,” Parse says. “Passed down by Aces captains for generations.”

Shitty snorts. Parse is literally the second captain the Aces have ever had. Parse goes on about a brief legend of how it was created. He’s pretty good at telling the story. Well-practiced with an excellent beat and pacing. Shitty respects the dedication to the bit. Shitty loves commitment to a role for the sake of tradition.

“You did one?” Ransom asks. “Or is this like Hazeapalooza?”

“He had one,” Parse assures them. “It’s my job to make sure it happens, or the sanctity of our team’s bond is threatened.”

Holster and Ransom’s eyes go impossibly wide. _That_ is something they take very seriously.

“Now drink up,” Parse says cheerfully.

Lardo sucks hers back with ease. She smirks and crosses her arms as she finishes, leaning into the booth. Kent reaches over for a bump.

“Mad respect,” he says. “Wish my rookies could drink like you. Maybe you could come around and teach them a thing or too about holding their liquor.”

“Especially Swoops,” Jack says.

“ _Especially_ Swoops,” Parse echoes.

Holster has a bit of an issue with the drink. His face torn between disgust and interest. Ransom approaches it with a scientific curiosity, taking small sips and swishing it around in his mouth as he tries to nail down the taste. Shitty looks down at his own drink. It’s looking a little melty. The glass is sweating a bit more than a normal cold beverage. It must have some sort of slushie factor to it.

Taking his first sip, Shitty recoils. It’s cold and must have some sort of liqueur component. The taste and texture don’t exactly meld together. But as he takes more sips, the flavours seem to change and blend together. At some point it starts to taste good. Soon enough Shitty’s finished it. He easily beats Holster (a picky eater by nature) and Ransom (still trying to dissect it in his mouth).

“Welcome to the Honourary Aces,” Parsesays. “A group I just created.”

“Glad to be aboard,” Shitty says. “And just because I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean I’ll be bailing you out of trouble.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Parse says.

They watch as Holster and Ransom struggle to finish their drinks. Holster does so first, finally biting the bullet and just sucking back the last third. Ransom continues taste-testing every bit. He later claims it’s for scientific research and a ‘Future Hockey Shit with Ransom and Holster.’ (Shitty greatly doubts that but still cheers when Ransom finishes.)

Afterwards, the conversation drifts in more casual territory. They avoid certain topics. Ransom’s first year of medical school (Parse asks him what he does but doesn’t follow up. Jack must’ve kicked him under the table), Jack’s search for an apartment (most of his belongings are still in Providence), and the status of Shitty and Lardo’s relationship (they are just roommates). But Shitty enjoys himself. Parse amps up the energy of the group and he definitely challenges Jack in a unique way. It makes him miss Bitty a lot.

He couldn’t make the trip from Georgia to join them in Vegas. It had been a pretty weak excuse about his mom really needing his help. Lardo and Shitty have already conferred that it must have something to do with his current relationship status with Jack (ex-boyfriends coming up on a year). Given their rather public and trailblazing relationship, Bitty probably doesn’t want to give the media any ideas. Especially since they are still lingering around like pests due to the offer sheet and the Aces scandal.

“Have any of you heard from Bitty?” Jack asks.

The Samwell team has this weird connection when it comes to Eric Bittle. One of them thinks about him and suddenly they are talking about him. He needs to come back to Boston soon. The care packages are nice but the fresh stuff is so much better.

“He’s doing well,” Lardo says. “His dad is still on complete bed rest.”

“What happened?” Parse asks.

Lardo looks at him with suspicion. She’s Team Bittle all the way and Kent Parson is a controversial figure in the Bitty camp. But Parse sounds genuinely concerned. No one answers Parse, letting Lardo figure out whether or not she wants to divulge Bitty’s personal information. She is the closest to him, the keeper of his secrets (and vice versa). But she relaxes and gets a sympathetic look on her face.

“He broke his hip during a football practice,” she says. “Bitty was saying he still thinks he can demonstrate the drills like he’s the senior quarterback.”

Adopting a weird southern accent, Lardo makes an attempt at a Bitty impression. It’s terrible but Shitty loves it. He laughs too hard and almost causes the group to veer towards forbidden topic number three.

“That’s awful,” Parse says. “Is he going to need surgery?”

Shitty sighs in relief. Parson with the save. However unintentional.

“They think so,” Lardo says. “But the doc wants to give it a bit to heal on its own. It might be okay.”

“Rough. I had a minor hip injury a few years back,” Parse says. “It hurt like hell but fortunately it healed on its own. Surgery could’ve ruined my career.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jack says.

Parse shrugs like it’s not a big deal. A potential career ending injury is a big deal to Jack though. Who would’ve known how Parse could’ve spiralled if his NHL career was cut short before it barely even began to touch the record books?

“Management kept it under wraps. Didn’t want to deal with all the speculation,” Parse says. “But Bitty. I like him. He’s funny. Have you watched his vlogs? They’re awesome.”

Forbidden topic number 4 apparently.

Ransom immediately grabs his phone and is texting something furiously. Shitty doesn’t get the message so it must be in the group chat he and Jack aren’t a part of.

“Swoops loves his baking,” Jack says. “I barely even got to see my care package.”

“Tell him to send more then,” Holster says casually.

Because really it’s the easiest thing in the world to ask Bitty for more baked goods, especially pies (but those don’t travel well). Baking for people is how Bitty shows affection. And having more NHLers as fans would help increase his visibility. When Bitty does open up that bakery he talks about all the time – he’s going to have tons of business with all the famous players promoting him on Twitter.

“Yeah Bits would be thrilled. He loves feeding people,” Ransom agrees.

Jack pales at the thought. He’s visibly uncomfortable by the idea of talking to Bitty. Shitty’s, like, 90% sure Bitty and Jack only communicate via the group chat these days. It’s not like they aren’t friends or anything. They talk in person when they all get together. But Shitty’s fuzzy on the details of how they broke up and it might’ve thrown a wrench how closely they keep in touch.

“I think Swoops has already DM’d him,” Parse cuts in. “ _And_ made some sort of arrangement. I’m sort of afraid to check my mail.”

Jack breaths in relief.

Then Parse slaps his hands on the table.

“We should probably get going. We’re due at the rink soon,” Parse says. “I can’t be late or Coach will bench me.”

They laugh. It’s a joke. Probably.

“See you at the game,” Parse says.

Excusing him by saying the bill needs to be paid, Parse gets up and heads over to the bar. Shitty doesn’t comment on the fact they all already saw Parse pay. But the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed. Parse can read people and situations well. His actions allow Jack a private goodbye with his friends. Or, for the approval and rating of him. Either way Parse knows he shouldn’t be present. 

“He’s good people,” Ransom says.

Holster nods in agreement.

“He can stay,” Lardo says nodding.

“I like him. You have a nice ebb and flow,” Shitty says. “Just be careful.”

“I am,” Jack assures him.

Shitty searches Jack’s eyes, looking for any sort of indication it might a lie. That Jack might be bullshitting him and he’s playing with fire spending so much time with Parse. There’s nothing in his eyes to find. Jack’s telling the truth. Or he’s really good at lying to himself. Either way, Shitty feels safe leaving Jack in Vegas.

“We’ll talk after the game,” Jack promises. “Thanks for coming, everyone. It means a lot.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lardo says.

He smiles before turning and walking over to Parse, who bumps their hips together as Jack arrives at his side. When they exit, Parse gives them a half wave and Jack nods.

Shitty watches them go until the very end. Once they’re gone he turns to the rest of the group.

“So casino?”

 

XXXXX

 

Shitty largely feels only ambivalence when he realizes he only saw Parse briefly during their Vegas trip. The brief acknowledgement after the game doesn’t count. It’s unknown if Parse is avoiding them, just not interested, or giving Jack time with his friends. Either way, Jack gives off no indication he feels strongly about the lack of Parse’s presence either.

He’s having only the slightest trouble making up his mind. Shitty wants to like Parse. At this moment in time, he’s really vibing with the guy but there’s a lot of residue from the other times they’ve met.

Shitty’s legal mind has filed each interaction, ready for inspection and debriefing. He likes to keep them close at hand when approaching the Jack-Parse situation. Trying to create a precedent. It’s fragile, tenuous, and requires keen understanding. Each moment is important in understanding how Parse works, a complicated figure in Shitty’s best bro’s life. When Parse first introduced himself into Shitty’s life, Shitty made it a top priority to better grasp the situation so he could understand Jack.

Parse is an intriguing personality. Shitty has no doubt Parse has split himself into pieces for protection. A self to present to the public, the one that arrived at the Haus in 2012. Charming, diplomatic, and just boastful enough so that everyone knows Parse has a right to be. Still Parse was younger and brash. His diplomacy slipped and the loud arguments he had with Jack dominant the memories of the visit. Sharing brewskis alone with the man – Shitty recognized it was all a mask to protect a more vulnerable person. Parse was thoughtful, humble and modest – subdued by the lack of reception – in a way most NHL players can’t get on their best days.

But after Parse’s devastating return in 2014, Shitty thought the vulnerable side was all but gone. The mask was mastered. Parse was a wall with no insecurities. He charmed everyone and never slipped up for a moment. Jack comes out spiralling, but Kent breezes through. Shitty can’t help but resent the guy. He thinks the years in the NHL, surrounded by the toxic masculinity and on stage personalities erased the good person Parse use to be.

Then on the streets of Providence, Shitty saw a return. He never liked Parse more. Angry, defensive, and caught off his guard. There’s no mask or cool guy persona. Just a former best friend who, despite his rage, still admits his failings and offers advice. Cool, hot shot NHL Parser was gone. Only Kent remained.

Then there was Friday night. That was a whole new Parse. Peppy and happy and spirited. Shitty’s getting a bit of whiplash over how different Parse is every time he sees him. But he likes him right now. He genuinely thinks of Parse as a good person. It’s how he exists in relation to Jack that bothers Shitty.

So on Sunday when he and Jack sit down for Bro Brunch, Shitty makes it a priority to ask Jack about it. He couldn’t be too open around the others. Not that Jack doesn’t trust them, it’s just Shitty knows Jack responds to one-on-one talks better than anything. There’s no better time than their private Bro Brunch to talk. Everyone else is off doing their own things. Lardo is touring the Strip, and Ransom and Holster are enjoying the pool. They need to _really_ relax on their vacation, they claimed.

Jack arrives a few minutes late but he doesn’t look overly stressed about it. He’s actually happy, which is pretty odd for Jack ‘Anxiety’ Zimmermann. He still apologizes, though. Shitty waves him off.

“What’s with the Tommy Bahamas’ getup?” Shitty asks.

Jack blinks. Of course he doesn’t know anything about the clothing his wearing, even if it’s one of the most iconic brands.

“Your shirt,” Shitty clarifies.

“Oh this?” Jack says tugging at it. “Scraps says everyone on the team has to get one. It’s like a tradition. It’s supposed to be good luck for the games.”

“Atrocious shirts, I love it,” Shitty says. “It looks good on you. You obviously didn’t pick it yourself.”

Jack laughs. He’s so predictable. That man can’t dress himself to save his life.

“There was a vote,” Jack says sheepishly. “Kent and his alternates picked their favourite ‘worst’ shirt and the rest of the team voted.”

Shitty eyes up the way the blue of shirt brings out Jack’s eyes. He doesn’t ask who won. It’s pretty fucking obvious, in Shitty’s very humble opinion.

“Professional athletes behaving like they’re frat boys, must make you feel like your back at the Haus,” Shitty says. “Concept of masculinity, toxic and all, still included.”

“Other than the communal living,” Jack says. “And we have outrageous amounts of money.”

“Ah, how could I forget the absurd and unnecessary amounts of money? It makes the performative masculinity increase tenfold. Though you are staying with Jeff Troy,” Shitty points out. “So kind of still frat living. And your impromptu sleepover at Parse’s following your first win.”

“You read that trash?” Jack says, shaking his head. “Bitty doesn’t even follow it.”

Shitty shrugs. 

“You don’t call, you don’t write. I had to get my news somewhere,” Shitty teases.

“I texted you in the morning!” Jack protests.

“It’s still garbage though. I can’t believe what that writer implied,” Shitty says. “It’s disgusting.”

Jack sighs and his eyes get a bit stormy. He puts on a weak grin. Shitty sees right through it and into Jack’s self-consciousness and desire to be more than his overdose.

“It’s just someone I don’t know’s opinion,” Jack says.

“Keep thinking that way, buddy,” Shitty says.

Thankfully the waiter arrives to take their drink orders and ask if they have any questions, giving the discussion a natural break. It brings Jack back into the world of living too. His eyes get brighter and he laughs at Shitty’s joke he tells the waiter even though Shitty has told it a thousand times. He tells Shitty it’s terrible like he didn’t just laugh at it.

Everything about Jack seems healthier. His skin is warmer from the Nevada sun and he looks more at ease. The contract negotiations took their toll on Jack – even months beforehand as the Falconers didn’t approach him for any extension. Maybe there were some lingering ghosts in Providence too. He and Bitty shared that apartment, lived in each other’s pockets even when they weren’t living together. The streets of Providence must be haunted by their past relationship.

“Vegas suits you,” Shitty says softly when the waiter leaves.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees simply. “Of course the trade sucked, but you said it best: it makes me feel like I’m back at the Haus. The guys are really helping me adjust.”

“Are you sure that’s not just Parse?” Shitty hedges.

Jack pauses and stares intently at his menu. The conversation takes a heavy and abrupt break as Jack mulls over Shitty’s implication. The waiter returns with their drinks and picks up their orders. Shitty gets something light; eggs (scrambled, Shitty’s a simple bro), toast, and some ham. Jack goes all out with the Lumberjack Special, which is basically every piece of breakfast food stacked on a plate. Fuck Jack’s still crazy metabolism.

“It’s not Parse,” Jack finally says. “I thought it was at first, but it’s the way he treats members of his team. They follow his lead.”

“Good,” Shitty says.

He nods and grabs his water, taking a deep sip.

“It’s just he doesn’t _touch_ me,” Jack says.

Shitty chokes on his water. He starts to sputter looking for some sort of clarification. Jack’s ears go pink and he laughs nervously.

“Not like that!” Jack corrects hastily. “He’s just less physical with me off the ice. I’ll get a tap on the bucket or a bump. But he doesn’t wrap himself around me like others.”

“And that’s odd to you?” Shitty asks.

“I know you’ve seen the photos. You’ve peeked at the box underneath my bed,” Jack says pinning Shitty with a look.

But Shitty has no shame. He definitely found the box under the Jack’s bed in the Haus while trying to find where Jack kept his hockey tape. Jack wasn’t around and Shitty wasn’t in a hurry so he leafed through it. It was sophomore year and Shitty was hella curious about Kent Parson. This was a few months before Kent showed up unannounced.

“He was always touching me,” Jack said. “He couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He likes to be in contact with others.”

“And now he’s keeping his distance,” Shitty concludes.

“It shouldn’t be as much of a big deal as it is,” Jack says. “There’s baggage between us. I’m certainly not throwing my arms around him.”

“But you’re not big on physicality,” Shitty points out.

Jack looks even more troubled.

“I mean, think about what happened between the two of in your room. He was all over you. Your former relationship was physical and Parse felt entitled to that, years after you fell apart,” Shitty says rationally. “You said he’s apologized. Any sane human would and should feel terrible about touching someone without their consent when it leads to the other person getting upset.”

“It’s okay now,” Jack says, then he self-corrects. “Not that what he did was okay. But I’ve forgiven him and we’ve moved passed it.”

“Have you told him that?” Shitty asks.

“We haven’t explicitly talked about it. But he said sorry. I said sorry and that was that,” Jack says.

“I’d say talk to him about it, but he should explicitly apologize about it too,” Shitty says. “He should bring it up since the onus is on him. I know you feel isolated from him –”

“But it’s to be expected,” Jack says. “I understand. You’re right, Shits. Thanks.”

“Lawyer’d,” Shitty says. “You’re welcome, bro. But I did want to talk more about Parse.”

Jack sighs.

“We’re getting along,” Jack says. “We’re both older and been through shit separately and have come out as stronger, better people. I know you’re worried, but I’m not going to let Kent send me over the edge again.”

“I just needed to hear you say it. I worry about you, man,” Shitty says. “You’re out in here in Vegas, so far away.”

“I promise I’ll call you if anything goes wrong,” Jack says.

“Good. Now where’s our fucking food? I’m ready for brunch.”

(Putting all he knows about Parse together – Shitty knows it makes a coherent picture. People have different selves for different occasions. It’s easy to figure it out for celebrities and people in the spotlight, like Parse. The media switches their opinion depending on if Parse decides to play ball and show off his charisma and give them that flashy smile. If he’s standoffish and rude, they hate him. His reputation comes from a series of events Shitty is sure they caught him off guard for – when he was vulnerable.

If you ask players from other teams, they hate Parse. He talks shit and is faster than most defensemen in the league, so they can’t catch him. Aggression is the only way they know how to react. He’s good, knows it, and loves to be flashy about it on the ice. Players despise Parse for it. But on the other hand, if you has players on the Aces – they love Parse. He’s their captain, a natural leader who goes above and beyond. They respect his talent. But his teammates get to see the off ice side of Parse.

Shitty suspects the Parse he spoke to alone, the one who was modest is the truest version of Parse. Sure he had moments of boldness, but his natural charisma shone through. The version of Parse on the ice is meant to set opponents off their game, but there is still a piece of truth to it. However, Shitty thinks he likes this real Parse. Parse is a good person, now that he’s let himself be comfortable with who he is.)

 

XXXXX

 

**[ARCHIVED] The 10 Cutest Things About NHL Power Couple, Jack Zimmermann and Eric Bittle**

_Buzzfeed Sports | May Akana | July 2017_

 

It’s the off season so it’s time to find something to fill our time while we wait for October! Today’s topic of choice is: Jack Zimmermann and his beau, Eric Bittle. The two of them smashed history when they kissed on live television following the Falconers’ Game 7 Win of the Stanley Cup Finals. Ever since then, people have been fans of their relationship and big supporters of the first openly LGBT member of the NHL.

Here are our favourite moments!

 **10.** **Eric’s Explanation of How He and Jack Got Together**

It’s a very sweet cliched story. Boy goes to college, boy meets Hockey Captain, Boy falls in love with said Hockey Captain. Hockey Captain kisses him at last possible moment. Eric details it all happens in various vlogs. He’s deliberately vague, but for dedicated viewers it’s pretty obvious who he’s talking about.

**9\. Eric’s Baking and Jam for the Falconers**

It’s no secret the Falconers love Eric’s baking. It’s all over Twitter as they tweet out the pies and cookies and jams Eric provides for them. It’s lovely to see how much Eric supports his boyfriend’s team!

(...)

**4\. Jack Taking the Beyonce Quiz**

Everyone loves Beyonce. Especially Eric Bittle, but Jack Zimmermann lacks a bit of pop culture knowledge. This could not stand. So Eric was inspired by another Twitter Userto give his beau a test to rate Jack’s Beyonce knowledge. Jack took it very seriously and to everyone’s delight, easily passed. That’s dedication (and love)!

(...)

**2\. The Jack Zimmermann Figure**

When Jack asked Eric to be his boyfriend, he gave Eric his official NHL mini figure to have with him at all times. Jack would be gone a lot and wanted Eric to have someone to think of while he was gone. It was an incredibly sweet gesture. Eric has admitted to kissing it for good luck when he can’t be at the games for the real deal!

 

**1\. The Big Kiss!**

OBVIOUSLY. This moment outshines every single one of them. It was like no one else was there. Just the two of them alone for one moment. Dissertations have literally been written on this moment. They were trending on Twitter for days. Just a perfect moment between two people in love. An inspiration to people everywhere.

 

XXXXX

 

“So let’s talk about the Aces-Falconers game tonight, Jim. What a show, huh?”

“Oh definitely, Rick. It’s the first game the Aces have lost since acquiring forward Jack Zimmermann and the last game of their home series before they head out on a roadie.”

“And what a rough way to start it. Roadies are historically never easy for away teams but it will be even harder without their Captain. Sources say he’ll be out the entire the trip.”

“Ouch. That’s gotta be a morale killer for the rest of the team. It’s no secret Parson is the heart of the Aces. But let’s talk a bit about the game before we get into the hit. There’s always a big circle on every fan’s calendar for the dreaded new team vs former team match up. How are they going to react? How are they going to play? Zimmermann was a dud for the Falconers but he’s been on fire for the Aces. That’s gotta sting.”

“Surely the GM is banging his head against his desk. Zimmermann isn’t Bad Bob, he plays differently and can’t fight his way to a Cup. Falcs stacked their team wrong and now they’ve lost some of the best talent in NHL. It’s gotta be a real doozy of a situation at the Falcs Front Offices. But let’s head on with the recap. Start us off, Jim.”

“The first period sets the tone quickly. Falconers come out of the gate aggressive and strong – they shut Zimmermann down almost immediately. They know his plays. They don’t account for Parson though. The two of them break through the defense and Parson scores a goal at the eight minute mark. Mashkov gets on the ice – and you’ve see the clip of him scooping Parson up like it’s nothing right from that first Aces-Falconer game with Zimmermann on the Falconers’ roster, Rick?”

“Seen it? I have it saved on my phone. He picks Parser up like he’s nothing!”

“So it looks like Mashkov is Parson’s kryptonite and the game stagnates for a bit. St. Martin grabs a buzzer beater at the end of first. Then opens the second with another. The Parson-Zimmermann-Connelly line is just getting rinsed.”

“By this point the Aces are getting angry. They start playing more risky. Coach Keller pulls Zimmermann and throws Koci in there in hopes it will mix the Falcs up. No dice. We’re nearing the end of the second when Parson attempts to crash the net but Mashkov is there. They have Parson’s number.”

“Falcs were really playing like the team that won the Cup and Aces were more like pre-Parson than anything. It was hard to watch.”

“It’s not even the worst part of it all. So Parson comes in fast, he’s like a blur across the ice. And then Mashkov comes out of nowhere and _slams_ him into the boards. The entire arena goes silent. I heard the crunch from the press box. It was spine tingling.”

“And Mashkov just skates away. He’s on the record saying some pretty nasty things about Parson but that seemed like a pretty rough hit. Then the damn refs don’t even call anything! Unbelievable.”

“Come on Jim, you know how fast that happened. The refs couldn’t see it.”

“Neither could Parson! He was completely blindsided. Never saw the hit coming. He couldn’t brace himself or prepare, which made it 100 times more worse than it could’ve been. It was heart breaking watching the play continue as Parson lay there on the ice. It was classic checking from behind and I can’t believe Mashkov didn’t get called.”

“Maybe we’ll see some sort of repercussion when the powers that be can review the footage and when Parson’s injury report comes out. For now the ruling stands. But back to what you were saying how the play kept going. The Aces on the bench were getting rowdy. The players on the ice were distracted too, their hearts not in it. Mashkov gets an easy goal.”

“Pah! That goal should be removed from his record.”

“It was only a few seconds, Jim. But when the play stops Zimmermann and Oyer are out on the ice. The lines are getting switched up but they don’t head up to the centreline.”

“You know Oyer’s looking for blood. He’s not called Scraps for nothing.”

“But it’s not Oyer! Zimmermann _throws_ himself at Mashkov. Meanwhile Oyer is kneeling down to talk to Kent and that’s when the medics get involved. So much is happening on the ice. Zimmermann, who’s not really known for his fighting, channels his inner Bad Bob and is taking on Mashkov mano el mano. The refs are trying to stop them while the linesmen are clearing a path to get Parson out!”

“Now we know Parson’s not a big fighter. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever seen him drop his gloves except when Moretti took a nasty hit of his own in his first NHL game.”

“I think he’s going to chew his teammates out but you know there’s going to be a little twinkle in there. Thanks for having my back, y’know? Some people thinking standing up for teammates can be demeaning – and sure if you’re able to fight back. But Parson was out. It’ll mean something.”

“Of course. So when the smoke clears, Zimmermann gets 5 for fighting and watches in the box as Parson is helped off the ice. You can see something's wrong. His shoulders are uneven. I’m thinking broken collarbone. That’s not going to be an easy recovery. You could see Parson’s face. White as a sheet and in a sweat caused by more than just the exertion. He looked like shit, Rick.”

“Truly. It’s going to hurt the Aces’ playoff chances, especially this early in the season.”

“Parson not returning for the rest of the game – not even coming to sit on the bench – that’s a big red flag right there.”

“The Aces come back even more vicious for the rest of the second. Falcs score on the power play when Moretti grabs one for hooking. Three on five nota good situation to be in.Keller mixes up the arrangement. Connelly is the only forward with Oyer and Tady on D. The three manage to lock it down. 4-1 at the end of second is not a good situation be, however.”

“Coming into the third was rough. You could see the Aces were drained. They probably knew nothing about Parson but Zimmermann’s got some leadership in him.He may only be starting out with the Aces, but he rallies. He scores in the middle of the third with Connelly on the assist. Oyer puts Moretti back together and the two shut down any other Falconers goal attempts for the rest of the game. But they can’t make up the loss.”

“4-2 isn’t bad. Parson and Zimmermann’s goals were solid.”

“It should’ve been 3-2. I’m still holding out for a post-game review.”

“Well Jim the game only ended 10 minutes ago. We probably won’t hear anything until the morning. Fingers crossed that Parson’s injury is minor and he’ll be back soon.”

“Definitely. Now we’re going live to the locker room with Brent who’s got Oyer on the line to talk about tonight’s game.”

 

XXXXX

 

**[INJURY REPORT] Kent Parson, LVA**

_(self.hockey)_

 

Well it’s official. Parser’s been moved to IR. The Aces’ Twitter confirmed it this morning (Link to tweet). We didn’t see him in the first three games of the roadie so everyone was already thinking it. It’s not as bad as I thought – only a dislocated shoulder. That’s about six weeks. I bet he’ll be back by early February.

_submitted 8 hours ago by bennynjets08_

 

_(1004 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] ovioviovi + _586_ 7 hours ago

That’s rough. I may not be an Aces fan but I love Parser’s playing style. Probably because he reminds me so much of Ovi as a right-handed LW. I’m going to miss seeing him on the ice. Glad it’s not a worse injury.

 

[-] crozbeez + _432_ 4 hours ago

Parser seems to be in a good mood though. He posted this picture of himself at the morning skate with the team

[-] schoonseattle33 + _179_ 3 hours ago

The completely unnecessary and just symbolic cast is really funny. Everyone probably pre-signed it as a get well gift.

[-] bennynjets08 + _35_ 1 hour ago

That’s actually really sweet that they made a little cast for him (I bet it was Swoops). There’s a bunch of little messages from everyone! The Aces love their captain <3

[-] pva0407 + _71_ 2 hours ago

that hair tho

 

[-] thirdythird + _435_ 2 hours ago

I feel so  _dirty_ cheering for the Falconers right now. They came out on the ice looking for blood and Parson had a target painted right on his back. It was a dirty hit and I’m glad Tater is getting a suspension for it.

 

[-] taterhead + _25_ 30 minutes ago

Fuck same man. I love Tater, he’s always been so friendly when he’s interviewed and on FalcsTV. But he was _bloodthirsty_ on the ice. He never even looked back after that hit. And you just know he knew what he was doing. No way Parser could’ve seen him coming at that speed.

Glad come Falcs fans are being civil here. On our sub everyone is talking about how much Parser deserved it or that Zimmerman should’ve been hit too. I’ve banned a lot of good friends.

[-] thirdythird + _2_ 10 minutes ago

We’re definitely in agreement here. r/falconersNHL is fucking toxic right now. They don’t even deserve to be called jabronis. The insult seems too much like a compliment.

 

XXXXX

 

**zimmboninumber1**

(gif) (gif) (gif)

So that fight huh? Been awhile since I’ve seen Jack fight. And going one-on-one with Mashkov – NOW that’s something.

 

**aces90**

playing your old team is rough. playing your team that hates your new team’s guts is even worse. it looks like mashkov was taken off guard when jack threw down. like he wasn’t expecting it. fuck really makes you wonder what happened between them because we know maskov hates kent and we assumed it was because of jack and now jack’s fighting for him...

 

**zimmboninumber1**

Honestly I don’t even know where to start with the drama that must be unfolding. Rough night for Parser, though. It looked like it hurt _bad_

 

 **108 notes** _#GOD I HATE THIS SPORT SOMETIMES!!!!!_

 

 **jackzed** replied to this post: not to be that girl but like this is totally like that one fic...

 

 **aces90** replied to this post: @jackzed more like the entire jack/kent archive... it’s super tropey.

 

XXXXX

 

“This isn’t weird right?” Kent says.

Ransom settles onto the couch next to him and hands him a beer. It’s the terrible cheap stuff you can buy at gas station. He supposes once a frat boy always a frat boy, but he’s not about to turn down a free drink. Kent manages to manoeuvre himself to grab it with his right, since his left is still in the sling.

“Nah, why would it be weird?” Shitty asks.

Somehow, Kent woke up with a text message from Shitty asking him if he wanted to watch the Aces-Schooners game. ‘Sure!’ Kent had thought. ‘Let me just buy a fucking plane ticket and head all the way to Boston.’ But Shitty had pressed his case – saying the Aces were going on a fairly long roadie following New Year’s and Kent could use the company. So Kent bought a ticket, booked a hotel, and flew out to Boston. Where he’s now ensconced between Ransom and Shitty (and Holster next to Ransom) on a couch in Shitty and Lardo’s studio apartment.

This isn’t his life. These aren’t really his friends. He doesn’t feel comfortable being involved in Holster and Ransom’s whispering as they talk about the lack of a second bedroom. Or being surrounded by Lardo’s art and Shitty’s various file folders and scribbled notes on legal pads. These are Jack’s friends and this is Jack’s life. Not Kent’s. And yet he flew across the country to be here to watch a game taking place on the opposite coast.

"Did Jack put you up to this?” Kent asks.

“Nah,” Shitty says.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Holster points out. “How are you even a lawyer?”

Lardo drops her face into her hands, shaking her head.

“You know his tells,” she sighs. “That’s why you can tell he’s lying.”

“Okay so he kind of asked me to check up on you while he was gone,” Shitty says. “He’s concerned that you’ll isolate yourself with your injury since you chose not to go on the road trip.”

“I start physio in two days,” Kent points out. “I don’t want to push back my return to the ice.”

“And Shits went overboard in inviting you to watch the game,” Ransom says.

“We told him you lived in Vegas but he insisted,” Holster continues.

“What was I going to do? Skype him? We’re not friends,” Shitty says.

Ouch. Kent tries his best not to flinch. Makes a piss poor attempt to throw up his cool guy facade. But the steady throbbing pain of his shoulder and how uncomfortable he is prevents it. Role exhaustion or whatever. If Kent’s even using that term right. Everyone in the room refuses to meet his eyes.

“Not what I meant!” Shitty shouts. “We’re bros. Bros don’t Skype. We invite each other for beers so we can shoot shit.”

“Didn’t really think we were bros either,” Kent says. “Thought you needed to live in a frat house together or something.”

Ransom and Holster share a gleam of mischief in their eyes. They grin impossibly wide before leaping off the couch and launching into a detailed, and undoubtedly fake, history lesson on being a bro. Shitty and Lardo get a weird combination look of exasperated and fond on their faces. Kent doesn’t really understand the joke.

“To be a bro is a simple thing,” Ransom begins. “It can be complex, like Holtzy and me. Or it can be something easy. Like getting your ass destroyed at flip cup.”

Lardo finger guns him and smirks. Kent’s never going to live that one down. Randoms on the internet are still tweeting at him about it.

“Or mutual broship like you and our dear Shitty. He’s Jack’s bro. You’re Jack’s bro. Ergo, you’re each other’s bros,” Holster says grinning.

“And bros drink beer, watch the game, and shout at each other for no reason other than they’re loud and bros,” Ransom says.

The two of them clap their hands together before dropping back down on the couch.

“You’re welcome,” Ransom says, leaning into Kent.

“You don’t have to thank them,” Lardo says. “They like doing it way too much to need any sort of validation.”

Kent looks at Shitty, looking for any sort of ill intent. He looks vaguely apologetic but genuine in his motives. There’s always room for another bro in Kent’s life.

“I’d offer my arm for a bump, but,” Kent gestures to the sling.

“It’s chill,” Shitty says.

He holds up his can of beer and nods his head. Kent brings up his good arm and meets Shitty’s beer. In the background Ransom and Holster whisper, in grave tones one might expect from an initiation into a cult ‘and so it is done.’ Lardo smiles, rolling her eyes at the whole thing.

“Like you aren’t the bro-iest bro to have ever bro’d,” Holster says.

“It’s more like how dramatic you boys can be,” Lardo teases. “Just drink your beer and shout at the tv like they can hear you. Less feelings.”

“We could leave voicemails,” Kent suddenly says. “I have the entire first line’s numbers.”

Ransom and Holster’s eyes get impossible wide. If this were a cartoon, there would probably sparkle. Lardo leans forward in her seat, interested in Kent’s proposition.

“Isn’t that like harassment?” Shitty asks, apprehensive.

“Chirping long distance is a long honoured tradition of the NHL. As the Captain of the Aces it is my right. _No,_ my duty to do this for my team,” Kent says.

“Alright let’s do it. First time the Schooners first line fucks up, we’ll be on it,” Shitty says. “Cheers brah.”

They all bring up their cans and crash them together. Even Lardo gets up from the recliner to join in. It’s a little overeager and some beer spills on Kent’s hand. It’s no big deal, just reminds him of the parties back in the Q. Underage drinking in some basement, spilling more than you drank so you didn’t get too wasted since you still couldn’t hold your liquor(because you were the smallest).Tricks of the trade that served Kent well. He never got caught and was never labelled as the team lightweight.

“Can you drink on your pain meds?” Lardo asks.

“It’s just the low grade stuff,” Kent says. “It’s fine.”

“What’s even going on with the arm man? Press isn’t saying much,” Ransom asks.

“It’s by design,” Parse says tersely. “I don’t need vultures speculating on the future of my career.”

“This is a safe space,” Shitty says. “Don’t laugh. Truly everything said in this room, barring the voicemails we’ll be making in about thirty minutes, will never be heard by another soul.”

Kent stares at his arm, wrapped in the sling not for protection but to support his shoulder. It still can’t bear much weight, but it’s healed to the point that he’s clear for physio. Though he doesn’t remember much before the hit ( _The breakaway. The net was right there in front of him. No one could take it away from him. No one could catch him. Goal for Parson! Goal for Parson! And black),_ Kent knows he was lucky. It was checking from behind clear as day, but it was a clean hit if not a nasty one.

If he had a nickel for everyone told him exactly how lucky he was he doesn’t need surgery – well he’d be richer than he already is.

Though Kent had been delirious with pain and then the medication – he remembers getting to the hospital. He remembers his teammates crashing into the room after the game. Swoops, Scraps, Troy, and... Jack. They all stayed longer than necessary telling him about the game, cursing the Falconers.

Maybe it was imagined, but Kent remembers attempting to get out that they shouldn’t go so hard on the Falconers. They were Jack’s team after all. He probably has some good memories with the guys. Even if Mashkov is a total dickhead.

Then Swoops went into detail about Jack’s fight. Kent did manage to give Jack hell for fighting before fading out for the night. The next morning, Kent was cleared to go home with a bottle of pills, his shoulder back in its socket, and the knowledge that he’d be out the game for at least six weeks. And that’s _if_ his arm heals well. That was a little under two weeks ago, just before Christmas. It’s after New Year’s Day and Kent’s only now getting cleared for physio.

So he decides to tell them the story, knowing even if they don’t like him much, they’ll respect Jack. And Jack fought for Kent when he got hurt, like a mama bear and her cub.

“That’s rough man,” Holster says.

“I’m honestly just tired of people telling me how lucky I am,” Kent sighs. “Everyone is always telling me how lucky I am.”

A deeper issue. Kent immediately zips his mouth shut. Definitely not going there with his kind of friends. They don’t need to know how Kent’s battle with his feelings of inadequacy. How the press and everyone around him is telling him how lucky he is. Like Kent didn’t work his ass of everyday for years to get here. As if every step of the way was just ‘up to luck.’ He really fucking hates it. He knows he’s a fantastic player now, but when he was young and vulnerable – it was hell.

“Moving on!” Shitty announces and Kent is forever grateful. “How was everyone’s holidays?”

“Rans, Holtzy you stayed in Boston for the first time,” Lardo asks. “How did that go?”

“Holster ruined the turkey. I told him to Skype Bits, but he was like nooooo we can do it ourselves,” Ransom says.

“Ransom decided we needed a whole damn turkey for like two people!” Holster says. “I thought we could just go store bought. So when he convinced me cooking one was the only way to go, I was like I’m going to do it right.”

“Somewhere Eric Bittle just started crying,” Shitty says ominously.

“So you got takeout,” Lardo says as more of a statement.

Ransom and Holster nod in unison, sadly.

“We had Bits’ pie for desert,” Holster says. “Which was nice. All in all it was good time between the two of us. A lot less hectic and it was nice to not worry about going home. Especially since this one was still flipping out about exams.”

“Winter semester started three days ago and already we have an exam next Friday!”

Ransom gives a thumbs up. Kent’s pretty sure his eye twitches.Shitty reaches around Kent to give Ransom a sympathetic pat on the back.

“But it was so quiet and nice. No pressure from family,” Ransom says. “I called my mom and I missed her, but I was still happy to have stayed in Boston.”

“Same here,” Holster agrees. “And you two? You made the _long_ trip to Cambridge for Christmas with Ms Knight? And you stayed the night, despite literally living 20 minutes away?”

He waggles his eyebrows. Shitty and Lardo remain impassive.

“We had a good time,” Shitty says mildly.

“Did your mom love Lards? This _is_ her first time meeting her right? But I’m sure your mom heard all about her!” Ransom says.

“We had a good time,” Lardo reiterates.

Ransom leans back and frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently Lardo and Shitty are a vault. They aren’t getting any information from them at all.

“I’ll call Ms Knight later,” Holster whispers.

It’s more of a stage whisper but Ransom doesn’t seem to care. He perks up at the thought.

“And you, Kent?” Lardo asks. “How was your little holiday break?”

“You’re from New York right? Did you go home?” Shitty asks.

“Nah,” Kent says. “I stayed in Vegas. Troy and I have a little tradition.”

Kent hasn’t been home for Christmas since he was 19 and before that, he spent the two glorious years in the Q with the Jack and the Zimmermanns. Far away from his chaotic home life. When Kent had been drafted into the Q, he had been living in Connecticut with his grandmother and playing AAA there. His parents had been going through a separation and sent Kent away since they were unable to handle his hockey. (His sister had stayed and thought she was the lucky one. Kent always felt more fortunate since his grandmother loved watching him play.) In the autumn of Kent’s first season in the Q, his parents had gotten back together. There was no way he was going home for that. Their relationship never recovered.

Last time he had been home was over a year ago – Thanksgiving 2017. An ill-fated attempt to build a bridge. Maybe they had changed. But his father still had his temper and his mother had back-handed comments and his sister, was quiet and proud to be the perfect child over her older brother. Kent had foolishly allowed his father to draw him into an argument about his post-40 plans and Kent knocked a chair over, denting the wall. He stormed out and caught the first flight out of New York. Kent feels wretched for lashing out like that, it was immature and a step backwards, but he can’t bring himself to call an apologize.

But Christmas 2009.

(Kent had been 19 and brand new to the NHL. He was lost in himself, wracked by self doubt as the press speculated if he’d be good enough without Jack. Alone. That was the big thing.

For the past two years he had made himself a place with the Zimmermanns, warmly welcomed into their home during the holidays. There was a brief insane moment where Kent toyed with the idea of asking if he could still come – if they’d still allow him in their traditions despite the role he played in Jack’s overdose. But he didn’t and instead made a dumber decision. He went home to New York.

He was out of place. His skin didn’t seem to fit right on his bones. Kent’s not short at 5’10, but it always felt like all the other players were over 6 feet. In the Q and still in the NHL. Especially on his team. He was small and they all called him ‘kid.’ More often than not, Kent felt like a fish out of water. But at home it was amplified where Kent saw the worst parts of his personality on display between his mother, father, and sister.

Lasting a day and a half, Kent fled his childhood home. Everyone was angry. They fought over everything – over every little detail. His family resented him for staying in Quebec instead of coming home. They hadn’t seen each other for sometime – the last time had been his grandmother’s funeral the year previous. Kent felt overwhelmed by grief and fell right into the traps.

It was Christmas Eve and he caught the last flight back to Vegas, arriving shortly after midnight on Christmas Day. The airports were busy and chaotic and filled with stressed, upset people who were missing their families during the holidays. So a crying teenager pulling a snapback over his face wasn’t amiss.

Arriving at McCarran, Kent found Troy waiting for him. He hadn’t told Troy what his flight was. Or even that he was coming home. The plan was to grab a cab to a hotel and stay there until Troy got home from his parent’s place – an hour outside of Vegas – on the 26th and pretend everything was fine. And yet there he was – waiting for Kent.

(Kent didn’t have a car and he couldn’t drive. Legally. He grew up in New York City – it was never a priority. He was living in Connecticut when he was the right age, but driving hadn’t been a priority. His grandma didn’t even own a car – so they took the bus everywhere. It was tricky, handling his equipment on the public bus, but Kent made it work.

Then Bad Bob found out the summer of ‘08 when Kent spent the summer with the Zimmermanns. He thought it was the biggest failing of a father. So he took Kent to some backroads just outside of Montreal. It’s one of the best memories Kent has. Bob in the passenger seat, chill as chill can be. Kent white-knuckling the steering wheel as they hit a rough pot hole and cussing Jack out as he muffles his laughter in the backseat.)

Troy looked pissed when Kent walked up, but he didn’t chastise Kent or yell at him at that moment. He would later. Troy just threw an arm around Kent’s shoulders and smiled. Kent never asked how Troy knew he’d be there. Just let the little miracle and Troy’s meddling be left in secrecy.

“What’s so great about the Big Apple anyway?” he said.

Kent tried to laugh but couldn’t manage it. Troy lead him out to his car and off they went into the night. They were silent for about twenty minutes before Kent realized they weren’t going back to Troy’s house. All Kent wanted was his bed and his room tucked away in Troy’s basement. He wanted to throw pucks at the wall. Curse the Zimmermann name. Curse the Parson name.

“Where are we going?” Kent had asked.

“My parents’ place. It’s still Christmas and I plan on celebrating the whole damn day. Runaway kids be damned,” Troy replied.

“I’m not a kid,” Kent retorted.

“Well you’re sure as hell behaving like a kid,” Troy said. “What was your plan, huh? What were going to do if I wasn’t there?”

“Get a hotel and wallow,” Kent muttered.

Troy sighed.

“That was really fucking really fucking reckless. Something really bad could’ve happened you, kid,” Troy said. “Vegas looks fun, but it can be really sketchy. And on Christmas Eve when all the good hotels are full?”

“I’m not a kid!” Kent shouted. “I didn’t think okay? I just had to get out of there. It was suffocating me. I hate my family and I hate fucking Jack Zimmermann for ruining my life. And I just don’t know okay?”

“Okay,” is all Troy said.

It’s all Kent wanted to hear. Someone to just say okay and accept Kent as is.

They were silent the rest of trip. When they arrived, Troy’s parents were up – having waited for them. Mrs. Troy showed Kent to the guest room, asking if he needed anything. Kent quietly thanked her for her hospitality before she left. He crawled into bed without getting changed. He passed out immediately.

The next morning he woke to Troy’s family filling the house. Troy has two brothers and a sister – each with kids of their own. He wasn’t sure what to do until one of the kids burst into the room and demand he join them for gift opening. Awkwardly, Kent joined the Troy family. It got easier after that. They were welcoming and warm and pulled together some impromptu gifts for him – even if Kent had nothing to offer. (He made up for it 10-fold the next year.)

By the end of the day, Kent was feeling remarkably better. The next day, when he and Troy headed out, he thanked the Troy family profusely. This is what a family should be, he thought. Not perfect, they still fight, but warm and loving and supportive of each other. Unconditionally.

“Listen,” Troy began as they got into his truck, “you don’t have to do whatever you’re doing alone. You have a team now. We’re your family. We’re going to take care of you.”

“You guys don’t even respect me. You all think of me as a hotshot kid,” Kent said.

“Hate to break it to you, but you are a hotshot kid who likes to run his mouth off. You’re a rookie who didn’t go off to the farm team – just immediately jumped into the NHL. You’re a kid to a lot of us. It doesn’t help that when you talk shit, you can back it up. People don’t also respond well to someone who’s good and knows it,” Troy said. “More importantly, you’re _my_ rookie, which means I have to take care of you. You can tell me when you need help, Parser.”

Kent smiled at him. That’s the first time anyone called him Parser. It’s not Parse like back in the Q. Or Kenny, like Jack. It’s something new. Something that’s distinct for this new chapter in his life.

“Look the guys will come around if you continue putting your talent to good use. It’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t dig yourself too deep. And I _will_ help you,” Troy promised. “Try not to do anything stupid like that again, okay? Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack when I found out you were flying home.”

"I’m going to pretend you don’t have spies,” Kent says. “But thanks. I won’t do something like that again.”

Things got easier for Kent after that. He started feeling like he belonged on the team and more together in general. There was still a massive hole in his chest, but Kent knew he belonged in Vegas. Ever since, he spent Christmas there with the Troy family.)

“Don’t you miss the snow?” Holster asks.

“I think I’d die without it,” Ransom says.

Kent loves the cold. It’s probably part of his affinity for hockey. But Kent grew up in the New York City not-quite suburbs – snow wasn’t a huge thing in the city. Winter in Montreal – that’s tucked away in Kent’s favourite dreams. The Zimmermanns aren’t even there. Just Kent, looking out the window as snow falls onto a quiet street and twinkles in the moonlight. Yeah. He really fucking misses it.

“I’ve got the rink,” he says.

“It’s the same thing,” Ransom pushes.

“No, it’s really not,” Kent agrees.

“Guys, game’s starting,” Lardo calls and draws them back into why they’re there.

“Five bucks on the Aces,” Shitty says. “Can I get you down for five on the Schooners, Parse?”

He gives Kent a shit eating grin.

“As if,” Kent says. “I’ll take five bucks that Connelly gets the first goal. Zimms on the assist.”

“The rookie right winger? You’re on,” Shitty says. “Connelly with the assist and Jack with the goal.”

He throws a fiver onto the coffee table. Kent puts his beer down and shoves his hand into his back pocket to grab his wallet. It takes some fiddling but he manages to pull out a five with one hand.

“I’ll get in on that action,” Holster says. “No shade on your rookie, but it’s Jack.”

“Same here,” Ransom agrees.

They each throw a five each into the pile.

“You in Lards?” Shitty asks.

“I’ll sit this one out,” she says.

She winks at Kent and he has to hid his smirk. Sure these guys know Jack, but Kent knows the Aces. How Keller has been making sure Jack is helping Connelly improve. By no means is Connelly a bad player – he’s fantastic and has some good wins under his belt from his time in the AHL. Put on the first line with Jack and Kent, which is where he excels, Connelly doesn’t get opportunities with the puck. The Zimmermann-Parson duo is historic and getting closer and closer to nigh unbeatable, but players will adapt.And if Connelly can be built into the line, it will throw opponents through a loop.

There’s no goals for the entire first period. But at the top of the second, Connelly gets one right in the five hole. Shitty calls him a dirty cheat and an abundance of other unrepeatable names. Ransom and Holster demand to know his secret. Kent counts his twenty dollars and leans back into the couch. This is nice. The weirdness from before is long gone.

The three continue to squabble around him while Kent watches the team celebrate. Jack’s arms around Connelly. Swoops and Scraps throwing themselves into the pile. Maric, the left winger who’s jumped to the first line, is laughing. Kent wishes for more than anything he could be there. He _should_ be there.

Jack’s grin. Bright, warm, captivating, and drawing Kent in like home. Kent’s stomach flutters. A sudden, painful realization runs through him and Kent feels stuck in the spot. He’s angry and foolish and embarrassed and devastated all in one go. The feeling is not unfamiliar, it’s _too_ familiar if anything. Inviting and pulling Kent in. He hates it. He cannot go there again.

He’s afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Aces:
> 
> \- ‘Jeff’ is a name given to a player via text in a sketchy image of Kent. ‘Troy’ is a name given a character from “Cup V – Post” but you can’t see him. In the extras, it’s explained that Troy and Scraps are Kent’s best buds on the teams. Troy is the one with Carl in the background. For the purposes of this story I’ve merged them into one person. He is a former centre and retired at the end of the 17-18 season. Kent lived with him when he moved to Vegas.  
> \- ‘Scraps’ is the dude with the scar on his face in “Cup V – Post”. He’s named here. For this fic he’s a defenseman. I use the surname ‘Oyer’ for him.  
> \- ‘Carl’ is another player from “Cup V – Post”. He’s not really seen but it’s implied Kent doesn’t really like him. He’s another centre forward.  
> \- Scraps, Troy, and Carl all played on the team with Kent when they won the Cup together.  
> \- ‘Swoops’ is a fan name given to a character who doesn’t match the known images of Scraps or Carl in another bonus image (the image caption has hashtags). I personally fall under the idea that this has something to do with basketball (they are at a Clippers game). For this fic, he’s a defenseman and currently living with Kent. I use the surname ‘Moretti’ for him.  
> \- Tady – just a name you can see on one of the Aces’ jersey in PVD @ LVA  
> \- I filled holes in the roster with a name generator  
> \- Connelly, Rookie RW  
> \- Nico Koci, C  
> \- Novak, G  
> \- Maric, LW  
> \- Tady, D  
> \- Carl, C  
> \- Troy, C  
> \- Scraps/Oyer, D  
> \- Swoops/Moretti, D  
> \- Parson, LW  
> \- Zimmermann, C


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoy this chapter! The title of this fic comes from the song 'Winter Wheat' by John K Samson. This song has been my everything for awhile now and I'd recommend a listen, if you have time.
> 
> (Formatting is still a nightmare, I'm sorry)

**NHL NEWS** @nhlnewssource

UPDATE: @kparsony90 5 weeks after injury and still not even back on the ice for practice. Is the dislocated shoulder more serious than we thought?

 

XXXXX

 

Kent watches the Aces game at home. Alone. The Aces kick off the home series with a bang, winning against the Sharks 2-1. Though Troy invited Kent to the game – he has box seats – Kent rejected the offer. Instead he stewed at home, a variety of issues piling up. His physiotherapy, that he hasn’t been cleared for even practice, and Jack _fucking_ Zimmermann. Kit had abandoned him in the third period after Connelly scored and Kent began aggressively scrapping his fingers throughKit’s fur.

He tried not to be resentful of the way Connelly looked at Jack after scored. How Jack looked at Connelly. How the entire goddamn team looked at Jack whenever he did anything. Like he was their saviour. It was an ugly jealousy Kent had thought he sorted out long ago, but he’s had no outlet to work through it. Shooting pucks at the wall in his bedroom would give off that something was wrong to Swoops. Heading to any sort of nearby gym would alert his physiotherapist and the Aces’ team doctor and they’d both give Kent an earful.

So he gets green-eyed and angry, sitting on his couch, alone, watching as the Aces don’t struggle without him. They soar, lead by the always amazing Jack Zimmermann. Kent may wearthe C, but it’s always belonged on Jack’s jersey. Kent tries to be rational. Jack isn’t stealing his team, but it’s hard to pull himself out of the spiral.

He hates himself for feeling like this. That this is Past Kent. Someone who wasn’t such a good person. A toxic and manipulative young adult who couldn’t figure himself out. That’s not Kent anymore.

He shuts off the television; the post-game interviews only causehim more distress. Staring at the remote, Kent tries the breathing exercise his therapist recommended. It doesn’t work. He fixates on Jack and how he’s been fucking up Kent’s life for a years and when Kent finally got over him – he waltzsback in. He throws the remote and it hits a vase (forced upon Kent bysomeone’sgirlfriend because his apartment was too plain). It shatters and he feels immediately guilty but doesn’t do anything about it.

Dropping his heads in his hands, Kent shuts down. He sits there for a long time. Eventuallyhe hears the door unlocking and the certain ruckus Swoops brings with him everywhere. In spills Troy, Swoops, and Jack. The three of them are laughing about something. Kent grits his teeth. It’s just like Troy to give Swoops a ride home and naturally Jack and Troy would come up to say hi. They’re his friends. They care about him.

“Parser!” Swoops calls.

“Parser–” Troy stops and Kent knows he saw the broken vase.

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Kent doesn’t need him to say anything. He knows what Troy would say. But Kent stands up and tries to plaster a smile on his face.

“Hey guys,” he says.

His voice wavers. Fuck. Kent hates it. He scowls instead. Charade officially over.

“How was your doctor’s appointment?” Jack asks. 

Like a goddamn therapist, Jack zeroes in on the cause of Kent’s bad mood. Another time, maybe it would’ve made Kent breath a little easier. That someone could read him so easily and just know what’s wrong so Kent didn’t have to admit it. Maybe if it wasn’t Jack. His chest feels heavier and he can’t breathe. Jack’s concern pisses him off. The little voice in Kent’s head, the jump of his heart makes him furious. Kent’s angriest with himself, frustrated he’s put himself in this situation – but it’s easiest to redirect everything at Jack. To blame him. It always has, despite how unhealthy it is and how much Kent has worked to stop.

“How do you fucking think it went?” he snaps.

Doctor didn’t clear him for practice and gave vague promises of ‘soon.’ Told Kent to take it easy and not to rush it. The injury isn’t bad but it doesn’t mean they can hurry the healing process. But Doc, Kent needs to be back on the ice. It’s his everything. It’s his world. What is he without hockey?

“Kenny,” Jack says softly.

His eyebrows knit together in concern. His eyes are so big and blue. _God_. Kent really fucking hates him right now.

“Don’t ‘Kenny’ me, Zimms,” Kent snarls.

He manages to root himself to the spot despite every part of his body want him to lurch forward, to get in Jack’s face.

“So you tell me you didn’t want to leave the Falconers and yet here you are, trying to take my team from me?” Kent says.

“Kent, back off,” Troy warns. “Take a breather. You’re overthinking this.”

“Fuck off, Troy!” Kent says. “This doesn’t involve you. This is between me and Jack.”

Jack’s hands are curled into tight fists at his side. His knuckles have gone white. This has blown past Kent’s insecurities and the injuries. Maybe those were what fired him up – but that’s not where it’s going to end up. Not now that Jack is engaged in this fight. This is it. The argument that’s been boiling under their skins for a decade. They’re not afraid it anymore. Sure there’s better ways to handle this, but Kent’s not thinking straight and when that happens he knows exactly how to get under Jack’s skin. How to drag Jack down with him.

(Kent’s not proud of it, but it comes with knowing anyone well enough. You can bring out the best, but you also bring out the worst. A dangerous power to wield.)

Behind Jack, Troy grabs Swoops’ shoulder – his eyes wide at Jack and Kent’s stand off – and pulls him out of the apartment. Kent would feel really awful about it (and he will) but he doesn’t notice. He’s glued to Jack. Ears red and mouth a thin line, Jack is pissed.

“I didn’t want to come to your team!” Jack spits. “I didn’t want to come anywhere near you. I liked playing for the Falconers. I liked being in Providence. As far away from you as possible.”

“And yet the moment I’m out of the game, you’re trying to get me out of the picture permanently,” Kent accuses.

“I’m not doing anything!” Jack says. “You’re making up this narrative in your head. Like you always do.”

“I’m the one writing stories in their head. Right,” Kent says sarcastically. “I’m not the one who drew up the plans that I was single-handedly out to destroy your hockey career.”

Staring at him, Jack says nothing. Kent has no idea what’s going on through his head. Maybe every moment leading up to the Draft. Or every moment after it. Looking over all the memories of them together. Every laugh, every goal, every fuck, and every fight. When Kent told Jack he loved him and Jack smiled at him before he stared at the ceiling but it didn’t matter. Kent loved Jack’s smile. When Kent’s name was announced first and the impossibly cold and empty look Jack gave him.

Kent knows what Jack is thinking.

“Stop dancing around the words and say it.”

“God, Kenny. You’re so fucked up,” Jack says.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Kent says.

Jack’s nostril’s flare.

“Just say it,” Kent hisses. “You know what it is.”

“Kent, I’m not–” Jack says, fists clenching at his side.

He cuts Jack off, shouting. 

“Say it!” 

Jack’s eyes flare. The way they did when Kent came down to Samwell that first time. Wild, dangerous, and unhinged. Kent’s only ever seen that look directed at him. ‘We’re bad for each other,’ Jack had whispered at the end of that visit. (He still kissed him, still let Kent stay in his room. They had gentler moments between the heat, trading barbs like normal. They were different though, each interaction charged by Jack’s spiteful eyes and Kent’s cool indifference to Jack’s life at Samwell. The second time Kent arrived, he hoped it be like the first. But too much had changed. Before, neither of them had really healed. In 2014, the two of them had diverged too much.)

“Fine,” Jack relents. “I hated you! I hated everything about you. You were out there living _my_ dream. Living what I wanted! You weren’t afraid of it like I was and didn’t have the pressure leering down on you.” 

It hurts but Kent feels a load off of his chest. Some of the anger seems to leave his body. He hopes Jack feels it too. All of these feelings buried so deep for years, everything they never managed to say to each other. It’s time. Jack takes a heavy breath, chest rattling and shoulders shaking. Kent waits for him to continue, biting his tongue to prevent himself from interjecting. Some snide comment about Jack as a legacy; about him having everything. It won’t help. Jack stares him down and opens his mouth again. 

“I was jealous of you! Everything you did was so raw and _yours_. You came from nothing and yet here you were the star!” Jack says. “You came into the Q rough around the edges; barely anything. I stagnated, a known variable. Yet you figured yourself out and shot to the top.” 

The words sting.Even more than Jack’s admission of hatred. It’s something Kent has always known. Clung to him throughout the years. Jack’s always been good at backhanded compliments. Kenthad everything, but to Jack he was nothing. Deep down, Kent knows it has nothing to do with him. It’s Jack’s anxiety – about the pressure of living up to his dad. The fear of failure. It still hurts, knowing how Jack’s warped the narrative in his head. Then again, Kent’s version is probably messed up too. He’s replayed it so many times in head that the little changes have stacked up.

“Now you,” Jack says.

“I’ve said everything I’ve needed to say,” Kent says.

“Bullshit,” Jack says. “Every time you said ‘I miss you’ and all your insults were covering up for your insecurity. I said my piece, now you say yours.”

A direct call out. Kent cannot ignore it. He takes a deep breath and thinks of the day in May 2010 when Troy asked Kent if he was going back home for the off season. Kent had started to explain how he spent his time with Jack in Montreal – how it had been the plan _before_ – but faltered. Then Troy pushed his luck and asked Kent about Christmas. About Jack and ruining his life. It’s the first time Kent told the truth about how he felt.

 This is the second.

“I resented you okay? You had everything I wanted,” Kent says. “You’re a legacy and you had the talent and the equipment. And your parents were at every game. You had a _dad_ , Jack. You had everything and I had nothing and yet you still felt it wasn’t enough.

“It fucking _killed_ me watching you getting worked up about losing and letting your dad down. ‘Cause if only you knew just how lucky you were. Everyone always tells me how lucky I am, but all I can think about is you. You who had everything and still felt like it wasn’t enough.”

“I didn’t have everything,” Jack interrupts.

“I’m not done,” Kent says, not unkindly. “But I didn’t letting it fucking fester and turn nasty like you apparently did.”

He pauses and breaks eye contact. Taking a deep breath, Kent grounds himself. Here it comes. He said it to Jack before so easily. It’s almost impossible now that he’s not young and stupid and wrapped up in hormones and feelings. Forcing himself to meet Jack’s eyes, Kent exposes himself.

“I loved you Jack. I loved you and that trumps every terrible thought I’ve ever had. Because when we were together, I knew everything you had – I had too. Everything I had was yours. I just wish you could’ve seen it too.”

Jack stills and doesn’t say anything. He looks frozen in time. His eyes too blue and too big and ridiculous. Like a deer in the headlights. They stare at each other before Kent laughs at the absurdity of it. He can’t help it. He laughs when he’s uncomfortable but Jack starts to laugh too. They’re idiots.

They’re idiots together.

“This is so fucked up,” Kent mutters. “I’m getting a drink.”

He walks to the kitchen, giving Jack a wide berth. But Jack follows him into the kitchen so Kent serves him a glass of water. Leaning against the kitchen island, Kent stares down at the counter. Jack takes a seat on one of the barstools. The moment has passed. Neither of them are laughing anymore. Kent runs his hands through his hair and looks up. Jack is still watching him intently.

“I shouldn’t have said those terrible things,” Kent says. “There’s no excuse. I just got so wrapped up in being stuck here.”

“Kent,” Jack cuts him off, “I spent seven years being stuck there. I understand. I was fortunate you were pixels on a screen that couldn’t hear the things I said. I’m still ashamed of them.”

He cracks a shaky grin.

“Look Jack, I know we talked a bit before but there’s a lot of shit between us,” Kent says. “But we’re going to need a lot more talks.”

“And a lot of apologies,” Jack adds.

Kent nods. He picks up his glass and takes a long sip. The cool water feels good on his throat, raw from shouting. For the umpteenth time Kent is thankful he lives in the penthouse suite with no shared walls. No noise complaints.

“Where do we even start?” Jack asks. “With the beginning or the with the worst?”

Kent knows immediately where he wants to start. In their conversation way back in October, they had a surface level apology each. They talked a bit about working through their own issues and trying to be friends. Things didn’t get deep – they weren’t ready for it. Still too fragile and fresh. Yet here they are months later after admitting their darkest emotions for each other and still willing to give it a go.

Since then, Kent’s mentioned _the_ _incident_ a few times but they’ve never truly talked about it.

“Zimms – _Jack –_ when I came to Samwell to try and talk you into signing with the Aces, I really fucked up,” Kent says. “I took advantage of our former relationship, I took advantage of you. What I did was wrong and manipulative. It still keeps me up at night thinking of all the shitty things I said with the specific intent of making you hurt. You shared things with me in confidence and I turned around and weaponized them. I’m so fucking sorry. I think about how fucking out of line I was all the time. I hope you can forgive me. I don’t know if it means much, but that’s not who I am anymore. I’ll never be that person again.”

“Kenny,” Jack murmurs.

Kent inhales sharply, ready for the blow. Ready for Jack to tell Kent off.

“You keep saying you’ve changed – but what does that mean? Are you a different person or what? I wanna continue being friends with you but I don’t want to find out you stopped liking cats and doing stupid shit with your hair.”

Kent lets out a sharp laugh, taking off guard but the response.

“Fuck Zimms – I’m still me. I’ve just matured. Kent Parson is Kent Parson and whatever, I’m just better at being a good person,” Kent says. “And like I’ll ever stop loving cats.”

Jack nods.

“Good. Thank you, I do forgive you,” Jack says. “It took some time, but we’re good now.”

Kent sighs in relief.

“Zimms, not to be like totally selfish, but it feels so good to hear you say that,” Kent says. “I felt like I was never going to talk to you again. That I finally fucked up enough I ruined any chance of us ever being remotely okay.”

“And yet here we are,” Jack says.

He’s smiling.

“Here we are.”

They’re both quiet for sometime. Their breathing slows and Kent refills the glasses with water once Jack slams his back. Kent’s mulling over the conversation in his mind and is sure Jack is doing the same. A lot was said – but there’s not a lot new information. Nothing they didn’t know before. Just the heavy words hanging between them finally have finally been taken down. Safe.

“I want to make sure of something,” Jack says, breaking the silence abruptly.

“What’s that?” Kent asks curiously.

“I know what I said – then and now. I know what was implied and I know how your brain works,” Jack says. “I don’t blame you for the Draft or what came after it. It’s not your fault, Kenny. You deserved to be First Overall. There were a lot of things at play then. The idea of an NHL career terrified me. Not being number one felt like I had let everyone down. It was too much and I couldn’t think straight. I took too much trying to put an end to it.”

“I wish we could’ve been First Overall together,” Kent says childishly.

“I know you do,” Jack says. “But that’s not how it works.”

He looks pained.

“Just stop blaming yourself for it. It’s pretty fucking selfish,” Jack says.

It’s mostly serious but has a joking edge to it. Kent nods. It won’t happen overnight, but hearing Jack finally say it will help.

“And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I put you through it too,” Jack says.

“It was your traumatic episode,” Kent says. “I had no business in it.”

“But you were affected. I think that’s one of the steps, is making amends with those you hurt,” Jack says. “And I’ve been putting it off for so long, you’ve moved from the bottom, to the top, to the only one left.”

Kent has to look away. He’s starting to get emotional, tears welling in his eyes. It’s a lot. Hearing the words he’s played out in his head a thousand times _for real_.

“It’s late,” Kent says. “And you played a good game. You should get to bed. Take Swoops’ – I don’t think he’s coming home tonight.”

“Are we good?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, Zimms. We’re better than good.”

“I think so too,” Jack agrees. “Good night, Kent.”

He smiles softly before getting up from his stool and disappearing down the hallway. Kent’s left alone in the kitchen with his thoughts. He wipes his eyes vigourously with his sleeve and sniffs harshly a few times before grabbing the glasses and tossing them in the sink. He then grabs a small garbage bag and heads into the living room to pick up the pieces of the vase.

Cleaning up carefully, Kent loses track of what he’s doing. His phone is sitting on the edge of the couch reminding him there’s still unfinished business. It’s getting late, but Kent can’t leave this until morning.

Quickly scooping up the rest of the pieces and making a promise himself to vacuum in the morning, Kent gets up and snatches his phone. He heads out to the balcony and inhales the night air deeply. Vegas is alive below. It always is.

He finds Troy’s contact quickly enough and doesn’t hesitate to press talk. Troy’s the closest thing to family Kent has. He’s not about to fuck it all up because he acted badly when he was angry.

“You done being a pissbaby yet?” Troy asks in lieu of a greeting.

“Zimms and I talked things out,” Kent says. “Everything’s good between us now. For real.”

“I’m happy for you, Parser,” Troy says. “I know how much he means to you.”

“I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have told you to fuck off,” Kent says. “You were only trying to help.”

“Damn right I was. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”

“Because you have all the answers,” Kent says.

“I don’t,” Troy says seriously. “But I know a few things about sports injuries.”

Here comes the lecture. Kent knew this was coming and how unavoidable it is. The lectures are Troy’s signature and he’s particularly fond of dumping them on Kent. They’re almost always useful. (A heavy blow to Kent’s ego.)

“I thought I trained you better than this, Parser,” Troy sighs. “You know how serious injuries are. If you play on one that’s not healed properly, you’re going to get one that’s even worse. Then it won’t heal and then you’ll never be able to play again. And you’re all about your sharp shooting. What happens if you suddenly can’t shoot anymore?”

“Then I’m not the same player.”

“Then you’re not the same player!” Troy snaps. “Who would you be if you couldn’t be Kent Parson? You love being Kent Parson. You love playing hockey in your weird fancy style and killer edges. It would kill you if you were forced to retire. It would kill me watching it happen.”

“I know. I was being reckless and stupid,” Kent says. “I was getting antsy! It’s hard watching them on the screen.”

“Then come to the damn games!” Troy says. “Actually you know what? That’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. Every home game for the duration of your injury – it’s you and me in my seats. Then when it’s over we’re heading into the locker room and you’re going to celebrate with your team. Not just because you’re their captain, but because you’re their leader and they fucking miss you. And you’ve been hiding in your ivory tower for far too long.”

“You certainly have a way with words,” Kent mutters.

“I need to get into that thick skull of yours you don’t fuck around with injuries,” Troy says. “Take a breath, Parser, you’ll be back on the ice. If the Aces keep this up, you’ve got a long season ahead of you.”

Kent smiles into the receiver. If there’s one thing in this life he’s lucky to have, it’s Jeff Troy. The universe really smiled upon Kent for that.

“You know, even if I wasn’t playing hockey, I’d still have you.”

“Damn right. You’d have all us. You’d still need us to keep your ass in check.”

“Thanks, Troy,” Kent says.

“Anytime,” Troy says. “But really you’re making me grey. I’m 35 not 50.”

“Can I talk to Swoops?” Kent asks.

“No,” Troy replies immediately.

Kent is stricken. He thinks of his father with his explosive anger and how Kent cut himself off from him. How Kent is afraid that same anger resides in him. Now he’s being refused access to Swoops – who isn’t his kid – but still a young, impressionable adult who lives with him.

“He’s sleeping,” Troy continues. “And he’s cranky as fuck when you wake him up. Talk to him tomorrow when we trade roommates.”

Kent laughs.

“Night Troy.”

“Goodnight Kent.”

 

XXXXX

  

**THE SAMWELL SWALLOW**

_The Samwell Swallow Online_

 

_WEEK OF JANUARY 28, 2019 EDITION  
_

_**KEEPING UP WITH THE ALUMNUS: JACK ZIMMERMANN** _

 

It’s been nearly three years since controversial figure Jack Zimmermann walked the Samwell quads. While the charming and successful captain of the men’s hockey team, Jack was well known for many rumours that swirled his existence on campus. Our favourite? Kent Parson’s mysterious arrivals and disappearances.

Following a disastrous year with the Falconers, Jack was offer sheeted and moved away to join possibly-more-than-just-a-buddy, Kent, in Vegas. Everyone’s still worked up about whatmay be the biggest screw up by the Falconer’s general manager since since they joined the league. Our question, and our burden to answer for our dear readers, is what is the nature of Jack and Kent’s relationship? It’s been a whisper on campus since the first time Jack arrived and only exploded when Kent followed, hot on Jack’s very nice rear.

We’ve recently unearthed old photos from Kent’s time at Samwell (below). Caught by an eagle-eyed student from their frat house to another, there seems to be some explaining to do! The two kept their distance for quite some time, especially considering Jack’s long term and high profile relationship with fellow alumnus, Eric Bittle (for their story, see here for issues that mention them).

Now that they’re back on the same team, Kent and Jack have only gotten closer. There are plenty of images availableof the two attached at the hip. Now following Kent’s injury, the two seem impossibly close. Especially with the Aces on bye and the All-Star weekend behind us. The two arealways side by side. What follows can only be explosive good or bad.

_This is a digital replication of the original article published on January 27, 2018._

  

XXXXX

 

“Why couldn’t we have hired movers?” Swoops complains.

Troy and Swoops have returned from the garage where Troy’s truck is parked, ready to be packed with Swoop’s belongings. Kent has elected to remain upstairs, packing things into boxes. It’s his shoulder, he told them with a smug grin. Even though he was cleared for practice last week and should be back playing regular games in another. No one other than Swoops really seems to fall for it.

“I told you, you could hire some,” Scraps says, carrying some boxes out from Swoops’ room. “But I don’t think you have enough belongings to warrant it.”

“Other than literal rocks,” Jack says. “Which as a history major, I can appreciate but as the person having to carry them – I have many questions.”

“Be careful with those!” Swoops says. “I’ve had that collection since I was like six.”

Troy peeks into the box and makes a face.

“Most of this is just gravel. You know having a rock collection means you have to get interesting rocks, right?” Troy teases.

“Look, I won’t admit to being the smartest kid,” Swoops says. “I grew up in Literal ‘o Fucking Nowhere, Texas. I had to entertain myself.”

“Anyways, we’re all able-bodied young men,” Kent says. “We can carry a couple of boxes.”

Scraps bumps Jack with his elbow.

“He says ‘we’ like he’s actually doing the heavy lifting,” Scraps stage-whispers.

“It’s his special talent, tricking you into thinking he’s helping,” Jack replies. “Been that way since he was sixteen.”

Scraps throws his head backwards and laughs loudly. Kent pretends to scowl but can’t hide the smile. He loves how easily Jack has integrated himself into the team and Kent’s friends. They all love getting material about teenaged Kent so that they can rip on Kent about it. Despite Kent’s moment of insecurity a few weeks back, he knows his friends will always have his back. They’re his family and aren’t going to abandon him.

“This is the last of it by the way,” Kent says. “Once I’m done with this box, you’re all packed Swoops.”

“It’s only, like, twenty boxes,” Swoops says.

“And two garbage bags,” Troy says. “With god only knows what’s inside.”

 “My clothes,” Swoops says.

Troy sighs long-sufferingly.

“Have you bought any furniture yet?” Jack asks. “My mom made that a priority when I got my place in Providence. I had furniture before I even settled on an apartment.”

“I have a bed,” Swoops says.

Jack looks at him. He doesn’t need to ask the question, Kent knows.

“Yeah I am not keeping that thing,” Kent says. “Consider it my generous donation to the ‘Make Swoops an Adult’ fund. It’s waiting for you at your new place.”

“I can’t believe I’m a homeowner,” Swoops says. “That’s... a lot.”

“You can always change your mind,” Scraps says. “I’m sure Parser won’t mind. Otherwise he’ll be experiencing empty-nest syndrome.”

“There will be other rookies who need a place to stay,” Kent says.

“Yeah but nothing beats _your_ rookie,” Troy says meaningfully.

“Which is why you still let Kent keep his childhood bedroom as is,” Jack says.

“Oh _fuck_ , my stuff is still there,” Kent says. “I should get that huh?”

“I’m thinking of donating it to a museum,” Troy says.

Kent pales. That stuff is important. Like really important. The box full of Kent’s memories from the Q – the jersey from the Memorial Cup game, photos, and various memorabilia. It use to hurt having it so close. Sometimes it was a crutch. Kent thinks it’s time he displays that jersey somewhere in the apartment.

“I’ll make sure it stays,” Jack assures Kent.

“Thanks Zimms, but Troy would never do something like that,” Kent says.

“You never know, I’m getting old and senile,” Troy says.

Kent shakes his head. Troy is such an ass. A well-meaning one, but an ass nonetheless.

“Get those boxes down to the truck. Let’s head over to Swoops’ place and get his disaster ass unpacked,” Kent says.

Swoops nods, excited to get to his new home and grabs one of the last stacks of boxes. Troy follows suit while Jack and Scraps exit Kent’s apartment with their own pile. Soon Kent is alone with one last box. He finishes packing up Swoops’ jersey from his first ever NHL game. He smiles fondly as he takes his time to carefully fold it. Looking around to make sure he’s alone, Kent pulls the little note he wrote for Swoops from his pocket. Nothing long, just a little message to know Swoops that even though he’s not living with Kent – Kent’s home is always open to him. It’s stupid but it’s important for Kent to do it.

(He’s getting sentimental about Swoops leaving, despite how much he said he wanted Swoops to move out before. The kid is important to him and Kent is going to miss sharing his home with him.)

He picks up the box and walks overs to the bedroom that until yesterday, was Swoops’. He’s going to need to buy a new bed to replace the one Swoops’ took with him. Kent gave Swoops all the furniture in the room – a desk and a bedside table. Not even enough to get Swoops started, but he thought it was amazing all the same.

There’s marks on the carpet from where the furniture was. Dust packed into corners that haven’tseen a vacuum in years. The walls are scarred and dented. It looks so empty now. Fuck, Kent’s going to miss Swoops living with him. There was never a dull moment with him around. From four am cleaning sessions to picking Swoops’ drunk ass at some club to staying in a marathoning old movies.

“Cap!” Swoops calls. “Jack and I are waiting for you!”

He’s calling Kent, running through the penthouse looking for him. Finally he arrives at his old room, the complaint about Troy and Scraps already taking off with his stuff dying on his lips.

“Fuck,” Swoops says instead.

“Agreed,” Kent says. “Nearly four years of living together. Any regrets?”

“No never,” Swoops says. “It was like having an older brother and mother and roommate all rolled into one awesome package.”

“Good. I’m going to miss you, Swoops.”

“I’m going to miss you too, Cap.”

Swoops easily pulls Kent into a hug. He is 6’4. Kent’s 5’10 never stood a chance. But Kent doesn’t resist, he wraps his arms around Swoops and enjoys their brief hug. It’s not often they’re so physically close off the rink. They push and prod each other, but hugs are rare events.

“I can’t believe our captain is the shortest member of the team,” Swoops teases as he lets go.

“Shut up. Let’s get you moved in. As you can see I don’t have anywhere to put you anymore.”

“You’ll make space for me,” Swoops says without hesitation.

Because yeah, Kent will.

Four hours later, the five of them are sitting in makeshift chairs with several cardboard boxes serving as tables for the pizza Troy ordered (one for each of them and two extras in addition to a handful of sides. Moving is hungry work). Troy referred to buying the pizza as his ‘duty’ in this whole rookie generation thing that Kent is pretty sure Troy makes up as he goes along. Swoops is leaning against the wall, feet splayed out in front of him as he lazily kicks at Scraps’ ankles. Scraps doesn’t seem to mind, lazer focused on crushing his pizza.

Jack’s next to Kent. They’re close enough that their knees and elbows keep knocking. It’s not an issue for either of them. They’ve both long mastered the art of working around each other. Kent sat first and Jack followed, leaving no space between them. Kent doesn’t think too deeply about it. The physicality grounds him, keeps him sane as he keeps thinking about returning to his empty home.

Swoops’ house, fortunately, came fully stocked with all the appliances he’ll need. Which neither Kent nor Swoops were smart enough to ask the realtor about. Fortunately they had Scraps with them and he asked the question. Which means Swoops won’t be making the twenty minute drive over to Kent’s because he’s hungry and can’t make any food. The real question is how Kent, who can’t cook, will survive without Swoops.

“So what are you going to miss the least about Swoops?” Troy asks. “I know I certainly didn’t miss your habit of never putting anything away. Which even as a homeowner, you still have not grown out of.”

“Swoops doesn’t know how to put dishes away,” Kent says immediately.

“What?” Swoops demands as he jerks upright.

“You don’t put dishes away. I can’t find anything in the kitchen,” Kent clarifies.

“I’m letting them _dry_. After I _wash them_ because Kent has never washed a dish in his life,” Swoops says.

“I washed plenty of dishes growing up,” Kent says. “Sue me for not wanting to do it immediately in my own home.”

“You want to know what I’m not going to miss about Parser?” Swoops abruptly says.

“I’m all ears,” Jack says.

Kent looks at him, faux-betrayed. How could Jack sell him out like this. He easily has the most blackmailable material since Kent had been seventeen and in love with him.

“Let’s compare notes. I lived with him for four years too,” Troy says.

The next thirty minutes is the Roast of Kent Parson as even Scraps joins in to throw Kent and his annoying little habits under the bus. From his inability to clean up after himself to his inexplicable needs to run on a treadmill at 2 in the morning and complete lack of self-respect when it comes to how he talks to his cat. (“You talk the same way to dogs!” Kent shouts. “All of you!”)

“Alright I get it!” Kent says. “Keep this up and I’ll move to Winnipeg. You know they have a Kent Road and Kent Street right next to each other? I’ll build my house there and play for the Jets.”

Simultaneously, Troy, Scraps, and Swoops make a noise of disgust. It hurt Kent a little bit saying it too, but he got his point across. 

“These are also the things we love about you, Parser,” Troy says. “If it weren’t for your little idiosyncrasies, you wouldn’t be you.”

“He’s right,” Jack agrees. “Just because I think your obsession with your hair is over the top, it’s very endearing the way you like to dye it ridiculous colours for no reason.”

“Just like your hockey plays in the margins, you absolute dork,” Kent says.

“Shitty calls me a hockey robot,” Jack says. “Beep boop.”

Kent can’t help the laughter that bubbles up. The others seems to be taken aback, caught off guard by Jack’s sense of humour.

“Okay if this will make Kent’s bruised ego feel better, what are you going to miss about Kent?” Troy asks Swoops.

“Kit. I love that cat,” Swoops.

“Ouch, using me for my cat. Just for that I’m going to have her unfollow you on Instagram,” Kent says.

He pulls out his phone and makes a big show of it. Swoops can’t see his screen and starts dramatically begging Kent not to. Jack watches as Kent pulls open Snapchat and takes a quick photo of Swoops looking ridiculous with his hands everywhere, gesturing violently with pizza. _‘Swoops getting worked up_ _over_ _the idea of a cat unfollowing him on instagram.’_ Jack laughs at the caption and turns away to try and hide it. Swoops immediately stops and scowls at Kent. Kent winks.

“I can see the headline now: Feud Between Parser and His Best Defenseman? How Will the Aces Ever Make the Playoffs?” Troy intones.

“I am sitting _right_ here,” Scraps says.

“You are both my best defenseman,” Kent says say easily.

They both have their strengths and weaknesses but compliment each other amazingly. Kent had his doubts when they were made partners at the start of the season, but they’ve become incredible through practice. They’re are a thousand times better together than they are apart. Halfway through the season, Scraps and Swoops have found their groove. There’s no way Kent could ever choose between them.

“Yeah well who’s your best linemate?” Scraps challenges.

Kent’s eyes dart between Jack and Troy.

“Um,” he says.

“Eloquent,” Troy says.

“You can’t compare them,” Kent says.

Because really, he can’t. Five years ago, Kent would’ve said that Jack is the best centre he’s ever played with. Statistically, he is. They broke records in Juniors. And probably next season, when they’re most certainly going to be in top form – they’ll break NHL records. But Troy – he and Kent have chemistry on the ice. They won the Cup twice together and had strong playoff pushes until last year when they weren’t playing on the same line. Kent’s seen the Reddit threads of people arguing who the better linemate it. Kent agrees with everything presented.

“You don’t have to choose,” Jack says at the same time Troy says “You won’t hurt my feelings, kid.”

“You’re both strong players and we play different hockey together. It would be impossible to choose,” Kent says. “I could never sell either you down the river by saying one of you was better. I am the player I am because of both of you and that’s something that can’t ranked.”

He feels embarrassed for being so emotional. Jack nudges him with his elbow and Kent looks up to meet Jack’s earnest eyes. Maybe Kent’s played with some fantastic centres in his time, but he knows Jack knows he’s never had a better left winger. There’s been people on Jack’s right, who’ve supported him and loved him but Kent’s always had the left.

“God you’re so boring,” Swoops says. “Let’s get to the good stuff. Tell us about your girlfriend, Troy.”

Kent whips his head around to stare at Troy. He feels betrayed for not knowing this major change in Troy’s life. Jeff Troy: Perpetual Bachelor. Jeff ‘I just want to be a cool uncle to my sibling’s kids and not have any of my own y’know?’ Troy. That Troy has a girlfriend that he hasn’t told Kent about.

“Thanks, Swoops,” Troy says sarcastically.

Swoops sinks back into the wall, trying to disappear.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Who else knew?” Kent asks.

He looks at Scraps who nods. Then Kent turns slowly to face Jack. He doesn’t meet Kent’s eyes. Of course he fucking knew. He lives with Troy.

“Kent, is this really an argument you want to get into now?” Troy asks. “With _everyone_ here?”

It’s a challenge. Kent never backs down from a challenge. But he sighs and folds into himself, biting back the anger. This doesn’t have to be dramatic and ugly. It can be calm and rational.

“I know you had a reason,” Kent says. “But you got all my friends to keep a secret from me too?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was abandoning you,” Troy says. “We all know you got daddy issues out the wazoo and it’s no secret you project onto me. I was waiting for the right time. You were going through a lot with the injury and then Swoops’ announced he was going to move out. Everything was changing around you and I didn’t want to add one more thing to the load.”

Kent stares at him. A younger version of himself would’ve stormed out the room. Made this theatrical and Swoops’ moving day about him. Then waited for someone to chase him so he could explode and just rage. Instead he sits there, clenching his fist and breathing – working through his anger. Sorting out his emotions.

“I would’ve been happy for you! _I_ am happy for you, dude,” Kent says. “You’re the closest thing to a family I have. I know you’re not going anywhere. That goes for everyone here. I’m adult and I can take things.”

"Look who’s Mr. Big-and-Mature now,” Troy says. “I’m sorry, Kent.”

“Good. Now tell us about her,” Kent presses. “Where did you meet? Whatdoes she do?Is she an Aces fan. She  _better be_. Can I get her some merch?”

Swoops jumps on, peppering Troy with questions. Always agood sport, Troy weathers the questions. Her name is Lana, she’s a nurse. They met at the Aces New Year’s party. Of course she’s an Aces fan. She’s from Vegas just like Troy. She owns a signed Parson jersey, which she won at a charity auction. (Kent still volunteers to get hera new one – that he’ll personalize.)

The rest of the night slips away with a couple of beers and pizza. The five of them just laughing and enjoying their time together with all near arguments resolved and forgotten. It’s just after midnight when they decide to help clean up before they head home. Kent and Jack pick up pizza boxes while Troy and Swoops disassemble the makeshift chairs and return them to their proper functions.

Scraps clears his throat.

“I, uh, have announcement too,” Scraps says. “Ari would kill me if I chickened out of this, but she’s pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

Kent freezes. He forgot Scraps was married. He forgot he served as a groomsman next to Scrap’s sister (the best woman) at Scraps’ wedding. He forgot Arielle gave him a black eye from a rogue champagne cork (thankfully wedding pictures had been taken already). Scraps is so reserved it’s easy to forget about his boisterous wife, who, in all honesty, is a lot like Swoops.

“Scraps!” Swoops shouts jumping onto him. “Does that mean I can be an honourary uncle?”

Scraps laughs.

“Yeah of course. You can all be honourary uncles, especially since Ari and I only have sisters,” Scraps says.

“Congratulations,” Jack says, shaking Scraps’ hand.

"Way to go man,” Troy says, slapping him on the back.

Kent shoves the pizza boxes into the bag. So maybe he had been lying a bit about being able to take it. Scraps bought his own house and isstarting his (furnitureless) life as a homeowner. Troy is finally settling down. Scraps is having a baby. Jack’s smart as fuck andhas marketable skills outside of hockey. Kent is just doing the same as he always has. But he’shappy for all of them. So goddamn proud of his teammates.

“Parser?” Scraps calls. “You alright man?”

He sounds do distant. Kent looks down at the pizza boxes peeking out the bag. They have a few little tear stains on the cardboard. He rubs the tears away and grins at Scraps. Bright and warm.

“I’m just so proud of you man. You’re going to make a great dad,” Kent says. “Bring it in.”

He reaches out and pulls Scraps into an embrace.

“I’m finally going to have an excuse to buy all the tiny little hockey jerseys,” Kent says. “Ari wouldn’t kill me if I got your baby my number and not yours right?”

Scraps punches him the shoulder as they part. Arielle would laugh and the baby would wear it, even if it drove Scraps nuts.

They all finish cleaning up. Kent makes arrangements to pick Swoops up in the morning since he doesn’t have a car. Then they make plans to all get Swoops a car and furniture, they’ll make a day of it when they have some free time.

Scraps takes off first and they make a big deal of it, telling him to give Arielle their congratulations. Troy has to go to the washroom before he leaves so Kent waits outside on Swoops’ front step with Jack. The two of the stare at the non-existent Vegas night sky.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you about Troy’s girlfriend,” Jack says. “He asked me not to and I don’t know. I should’ve told you. I knew better.”

“It’s fine,” Kent replies.

“Makes me miss home,” Jack murmurs. “The sky, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Kent agrees.

He doesn’t need to clarify. They both know Kent means Montreal too.

“Come stay with me,” Kent says impulsively.

It’s stupid and Kent’s not acknowledging the elephant in his own mind. The metaphorical box he thought was closed with finality is creaking open. But he wants Jack close by so badly. He loves how he feels when Jack smiles at him. He loves sharing a space with Jack again. He knows how not to screw it up and Jack isn’t going anywhere soon, but Kent can’t help the feelings bubbling to the surface. He doesn’t feel anger anymore, just a sad resignation to his fate.

“What?” Jack asks, swinging around to look at him.

“I like living with someone. It’ll be easier to carpool to games. Life in general would be more easy,” Kent says. “And look, Troy’s not going to say it but he’s going to want space now that he has a girlfriend.”

“I’ve been thinking that too,” Jack says. “About Troy.”

“And I know you’re not really house hunting right now and Troy’s super anal about moving your stuff in, you could unpack some of your stuff at my house,” Kent continues. “Make Vegas your home. Until you can get a place of your own.”

“Kenny...”

“I get if you’re apprehensive. Maybe it’s because your contract is a short one or because of me, but like it would be awesome, Zimms!”

“I was going to say yes. Let’s do this. I’ll move in with you.”

“Awesome,” Kent says.

He keeps his cool. But he’s over the moon that Jack said yes. His chest feels like it’s about to burst. Why is he he so happy? He didn’t feel like this when Swoops – _fuck._

Kent is actually going to fuck this all up for himself again, headingdown this route. Following these feelings of deepening affection regarding Jack has historically been a bad idea.

“Nah, ‘swawesome,” Jack corrects.

Kent doesn’t get a chance to comment on the ridiculous word Jack picked up from college and is currently attempting to pass on to the team. Troy arrives. Jack and Troy head off in one direction and Kent heads back his own place alone.

But not for much longer.

 

XXXXX 

 

**POST GAME DISCUSSION THREAD: OILERS @ ACES**

_(self.hockey)_

 

_submitted 2 hours ago by vegasgold_

 

_(819 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] vegasgold + _985_ 2 hours ago

Parser’s back baby!!!

[-] crosbeez + _673_ 2 hours ago

Rough game for him though! Jack and Connelly were really picking up the slack. He’s still quick as hell ~~(man his edges tho they still give my boy a run for his money)~~

[-] vegasgold + _459_ 2 hours ago

True but I’m glad he’s back on the ice. His shooting isn’t as clean, but in the post game interview, he’s confident it’ll get there. Dislocated shoulder recovery takes 6+ weeks. Parser was out for 8. Should be back in shape for playoffs B)

[-] pva0407 + _156_ 10 minutes ago

ofc hes still quick he hurt his shoulder not his feet

 

 

[-] ovioviovi + _846_ 2 hours ago

i’ll admit i teared up a little when he came out and the crowd started chanting his name. Wish i had someone who loved me like vegas loves kent...

[-] bennynjets08 + _22_ 1 hour ago

Honestly same. I can see vegas keeping him until the end of the line at this point. It would just be poetic.

 

 

[-] falcsjimbo99 - _78_ 1 hour ago

anyone the tiniest bit disappointed that parser isn’t a bit more rocky? like let some fresh talent take over

[-] providence24 + _567_ 30 minutes ago

...dude no. Absolutely no one thinks that. parser’s a brilliant player and even as a ride or die falconers fan i can’t wait to see his career go for a long time 

[-] thirdythird + _431_ 10 minutes ago

Did bashing just one of the living legends get boring for you? Now you have to make disparaging parser your new shtick?

  

XXXXX

 

It’s been sometime since Jack and Bitty have talked face to face. Last time was at a party early in the summer at Ransom and Holster’s to celebrate Ransom getting into med school. Then they went back to their own lives. Jack had contract negotiation and Bitty had a baking fellowship. They were busy. Or Jack tells himself. They ran into each other a mutual gatherings – which were few and far between. They drifted apart.

Then Bitty went back to Georgia last November and it became harder for them to stay in contact. It’s been awhile since they’ve had any one-on-one contact. A lot of their communication has been performative through the various group chats they are mutually part of.

Their break up wasn’t bad. In the end, it was a mutual agreement. Jack still loved Bitty and was sure Bitty still loved him, things just weren’t working for them. They had an amazing two and half years. Jack’s always going to hold that time in a special place. Bitty needed a relationship that was constant and close. Jack was fine with a more distant relationship, but it didn’t make it easier being apart from Bitty for so long. Even when he was in Providence it was hard to meet up. Their relationship was mostly sleeping together, as in the physical act of just being in the same bed together. When Bitty got a job, his hours were in flux too. Seeing each other became even harder.

Then Jack had come home on the first of January instead of December 31st. His flight had gotten stuck in Denver and he missed Shitty and Lardo’s New Year’s Party. When he got home at 4 am, Bitty had been waiting for him. Despite their exhaustion, they talked for hours. At 8 am, Bitty left Jack’s apartment with a small bag of his belongings and didn’t come back. It was three days later when the break-up hit Jack. He threw himself into hockey, but the Falconers were still struggling and Jack’s frustration grew.

Bitty had said along with their lack of time together – he needed to explore the world more in terms of dating. He loved Jack and maybe some day their lives would realign. But Bitty had only ever had one boyfriend, he was young, and out and just wanted to experience life as a single gay man. Jack understood. Bitty was angry how clinical and accepting Jack had been about the whole thing. Jack was tired and it was hard to process – causing Bitty to get even more upset.

But after a losing streak, Jack called Bitty and they had a fight. When he hung up, angry at himself for doing it – Jack finally cried. He called Bitty later and apologized, leading to a two hour long discussion. At the end of that one, the door shut for good. Jack said it – that if they want to be friends there can be no chance at reopening the door. Bitty was upset about it, but knew it was for the best.

They were broken up. They promised to be friends, but there was an awkwardness lingering between them.

Jack’s more than surprised when he gets Bitty’s text.

 

From  **Bitty** _2:00 pm_ :

Skype?

 

Jack responds immediately. His chest is bursting. He has so much to tell Bitty, so much to share about his life. With no hesitation he clicks ‘answer’ when Bitty’s contact photo appears. Leaning back on his bed in Kent’s guest room (well Jack’s room, as Kent told him to call it), Jack smiles as Bitty’s happy face fills the screen.

“Oh Lord, Jack! It’s been a minute, I am so glad to see that handsome face again,” Bitty says.

Jack laughs.

“You sound way more southern than usual,” he teases.

“Well that’s what spending three months back in Georgia will do to you,” Bitty says. “And you’re out there living in the West. You’re so close to the South.”

“It’s so hot here, Bitty. They tell me it’s going to get _warmer_ ,” Jack complains.

Bitty laughs.

“Oh you sweet summer child. Spend your summers in Montreal and get out of the desert,” he says the last bit with mock grave tone.

“The summer,” Jack says drifting off.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Renegotiate his contact successfully for a more longterm solution with the Aces. Buy a home. Maybe. If he’s staying. Head home to Montreal. See wherever the hell Kent disappears to in the offseason. There’s so much potential and Jack’s looking forward to it.

“Don’t forget us in Boston!” Bitty says. “Nursey’s here too now. Dex might drop by. Connor and Tango are graduating then so we’ll all have to go back to Samwell. And my last generation of Frogs, the _waffles,_  will be seniors. Seniors, Jack! I’m getting so old!”

“Bitty, you’re 24,” Jack says. “I’m old! I’m turning 29 this year. That’s almost _thirty_.”

Bitty makes a face. The conversation takes a natural pause and Jack takes the moment to study Bitty’s face. His hair is longer, starting to curl up at his ears again. His face is getting softer too, having put on a bit of weight now that Bitty’s not actively playing such an aggressive sport. Surely Bitty still exercises, but nothing burns calories like playing hockey.

“So how was your dad? And Georgia?” Jack asks.

“Coach is good. He was moving well when I left so it wasn’t too much on my mother,” Bitty says. “I coached some football in Coach’s place while he was out. Now that was _something_. That sport is all checking – or tackling as non-hockey people call it.”

“I know what tackling is, Bitty. Hockey isn’t the only sport I think about,” Jack replies.

Bitty only laughs and waves him off.

Moving on immediately, Bitty rambles on about Georgia for a good forty-five minutes. He gets lost in describing football culture in Georgia, trying to explain the feeling of Friday Night Lights. (Jack makes a show of writing a movie of a same name down, promising to watch it). It’s like hockey in some Canadian towns except more American. Bitty finally describes it as ‘you had to grow up here to understand it thing’ but Jack enjoys painting the picture in his mind eye.

He talks a lot about helping his mother around the house and catching up with old friends. He did a lot of baking while he was there, sending it out to his friends around the States. Which includes Swoops (Jack doesn’t mention that Kent partakes in Swoop’s care packages). He’s sad that he doesn’t get to bake with his mother everyday anymore, which was by far the best part of staying in Georgia.

“Anyways I’m happy to be back in Boston. Georgia’s nice, but Madison is still Madison,” Bitty sighs. “I’ve been rambling. Tell me what’s new with you, Jack!”

“Not much,” Jack says shrugging.

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann!” Bitty scolds. “Don’t you hold out on me. I want to know everything that’s happened in your life because I know it’s been a lot. The _Aces_?”

“Fine,” Jack says smiling. “Vegas is amazing, Bits. I love it here. My team is amazing. I thought they’d be difficult to get to know because of the scandal or on their high horses because they’re so elite, but they’re a family. Just like Samwell.”

He doesn’t talk about how Kent’s been taking responsibility for him, in some ways. How Kent sees it as his most important duty to make sure new players fit in and the team follows his lead without question. Jack overthinks every one of Kent’s gestures. He knows Swoops is on a whole other level, but every passing day, Jack can’t help but feel like he is too. The other guys say it’s normal, but Jack knows that’s not the whole truth.

“I’m so glad to hear that Jack. It makes my heart full to know you’re happy, I can only guess how hard it must’ve been for you to uproot your entire life,” Bitty says.

“I was nervous at first, but everyone’s been really good at making me feel welcome,” Jack says.

He’s careful not to mention Kent. Bitty is not Kent’s biggest fan. In fact, Kent Parson maybe the only person Eric Bittle actively dislikes. Even after they broke up, Bitty never warmed up to Kent. It’s only fair. Bitty hasn’t seen the good side of Kent Jack has always known exists.

“Are you still staying at Jeff Troy’s? I thought he owned a house, the view outside the window says otherwise,” Bitty says.

Jack gets up off the bed and switches the camera so Bitty can appreciate the view from his window.

“Jack that’s gorgeous. I’m so jealous you get to wake up to that everyday,” Bitty gasps. “Give me a tour!”

Jack has never been able to deny Bitty much, so he acquiesces. Keeping the camera outwards, he watches Bitty’s face as he appreciates all the items in Kent’s apartment. He doesn’t pick up that it’s not Jack’s place although Bitty does comment on the fact it’s far more lavish than he would’ve picked for Jack. Mostly listening to Bitty’s running commentary, Jack does go on to point out a few things in the apartment.

They end up in the home gym, which Jack is a bit apprehensive to enter since Kent was running on the treadmill when Jack last saw him. Carefully pulling around the corner, Jack sees that it’s empty and enters the room.

“You know I was worried about your morning runs,” Bitty confesses his eyebrows knitting together. “I know Vegas doesn’t have the best reputation, so I was concerned about you running on the streets.”

Jack does go for morning runs. He does get to see interesting characters every so often, but Kent lives in a nice neighbourhood. He doesn’t need to tell Bitty that. It’ll only worry him unnecessarily.

“Oh look! You put your Falconers jersey is on the wall,” Bitty says. “Where’s your Samwell one?”

Jack looks and in the corner of the room – there it is. He hasn’t been in here much and has never really focused on the walls. The plaque announces that it’s a Jack Zimmermann ‘First Season’ Falconers Jersey. Before he even wore the A. He didn’t know Kent cared that much.

Instead of commenting on it and glad that the camera’s turned around, Jack pulls out of the room. He makes a beeline for to the most important part of the place: the kitchen. It’s state of the art. That will get Bitty off the jersey, which Jack can’t explain. Even though Kent can’t cook, he likes to give the illusion he can. It’s nicer than Jack’s place in Providence. Bitty’ll love it.

In the background, Bitty’s moved onto a tangent about this street performer he and Lardo ran into last week. Jack’s wrapped up in watching the video he doesn’t even register Kent standing in the middle of the kitchen, chugging a gatorade. Bitty notices immediately – stopping in his tracks. He glares at Kent even though Kent can’t see him. Jack looks up and smiles at Kent.

“Oh is that Bittle?” Kent says.

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I’m giving him the tour of your place. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah, it’s cool. Hi Bittle,” Kent says.

He waves at the camera. Bittle crosses his arms and doesn’t say anything. Still hard feelings it seems. Despite Kent going from ‘I don’t care about Eric Bittle’ to ‘He’s a significant part of my estranged best friend’s life so I have to get over it’ to ‘that Bittle guy is pretty funny,’ Bittle’s stayed firmly in the ‘Fuck Kent Parson’ camp.

“He’s, uh, waving back,” Jack says.

He absconds back to his bed room. Shutting the door, Jack quickly flips the camera around so Bitty can see him. The glare continues, just redirects at Jack.

“You know he knows you’re lying,” Bitty says.

Jack sighs. Of course Kent does. Jack was trying to be nice and balance the situation. Bitty and Kent are very important people to him, both representing two very different parts of his life. It would be nice if they got along. For now, Jack needs to mediate.

“Kent actually really likes you, Bits,” Jack stresses, running his hand through his hair.

He drops down on the bed. His arm with the phone hangs down, giving Bitty a lower angle of his face. It’s not the best but Jack doesn’t particularly feel like holding his arm up at eye level.

“I know, Ransom texted me when you guys were all hanging out. He follows my Twitter and likes like almost all of my tweets,” Bitty says. “I’m pretty sure he’s subscribed to my YouTube channel too.”

“You don’t think you could give him another chance? You liked him before you overheard our fight,” Jack says.

Bitty sighs.

“I liked him before I knew what a jackass he was. He said such awful things to you, Jack,” Bitty says. “He knew exactly what your weaknesses were and tore into them. When someone bears their soul to you, you don’t throw it back in their face when you’re mad at them.”

“I’ve told you it’s complicated between Kent and I,” Jack says defensively. “Yeah he said terrible things, but I’ve said terrible things too.”

“I know. ‘You owe each other a lot of apologies,’” Bitty parrots back at him. “But that doesn’t change the fact that he hurt you. It affected you deeply.”

“Look Bits, I appreciate your concern but Kent and I have talked a lot about that specific night,” Jack says. “We’re good now. I swear.”

“Jack, you don’t have to convince me,” Bitty says softly. “I’m not your boyfriend anymore.”

“Your opinion still matters to me,” Jack says.

“You sound like you’re trying convince yourself that being Kent’s friend, _living with Kent_ , is a good idea by getting me on board,” Bitty says. “Do you mean to do that?”

“No.”

“Then stop pushing for me to like Kent. Maybe I’ll come around. Maybe I won’t,” Bitty says. “This is something I have to do on my own. But I support you, even if I don’t like Kent.”

“Thanks, Bits,” Jack says.

“Now pick up your camera so I can stop looking at this ugly angle,” Bitty says.

Jack does as Bitty commands.

“Excellent,” Bitty says nodding. “First impressions really do a number and mine of Kent – it was really bad, Jack. He didn’t care who I was. He thought he was the only person who cared about you. It really hurt. Seeing the way he treated you, how he wrote your friends off.”

Jack nods. Okay he gets it. The others like Kent because they don’t know what Kent said. Even though Kent doesn’t feel the same way (the jury’s still out if he actually meant it or was just trying to get Jack to see a twisted point of view), it’s good the guys didn’t hear. Samwell was and is very important to them. The hockey team was good and they were all fantastic players. They weren’t NHLers, but in Jack’s senior year the team, _his_ team, was on top of the world.

“Give me time, Jack,” Bitty says. “Now that I’m back in Boston, I can come to all these get-togethers y’all keep having. Hopefully we don’t have a blond quota. And you know what they say, Last one in, first one out.”

“Kent would dye his hair,” Jack says. “He loves doing stupid stuff to his hair. You’d only have to imply it and he’d already be down the block to pick up some dye.”

Bitty gets a mischievous look on his face. Jack’s not too worried since Bitty brought sweaters and pie to Hazeapalooza (somehow Chowder still got one). Bitty dropped the sweaters the next two years but still brought pie. The new generation of Samwell hockey players don’t even know how lucky they are. Bitty living in the house changed living conditions irrevocably for the better.

“Okay I gotta go, some pies need to get baked and some care packages need to be made,” Bitty says. “Let’s talk again soon, Jack. I miss you.”

“Me too, Bits,” Jack says.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Bitty says.

He hangs up and Jack smiles at the brief frozen frame of Bitty. This is it. Their awkward period if over. Jack knows it won’t be half a year until their next real conversation. The transition from boyfriends to exes is over. They’re friends again. Jack loves being friends with Bitty. 

 

XXXXX 

 

The Olympics were exactly a year ago. Jack remembers the uproar. How much it sucked none one in the NHL was going for 2018. There weren’t many members on the Falconers who played for the national teams, but you could see their disappointment. Several of the Aces, Kent included, are former members of Olympic National Hockey teams. To say they are annoyed with the NHL’s decision to not accommodate an Olympic break is understatement. For the most part, it’s been forgotten or just put on the back burner, just a low simmering resentment.

Kent is still bitter as fuck and going strong. Anything could set him off. (Maybe watching _I, Tonya_ wasn’t such a great idea.)

“It was a disaster,” Kent says after the first mention of the Olympics. He pauses the television and leaps up, rant immediately on his tongue. “Losing to the Czech team? It was going to be _our_ year, Zimms.”

Jack rolls his eyes. Kent paces in front of the television, hands in the air as he rants about the NHL, the USA’s performance (good and bad), and about how 2018 was supposed to be the year the USA was going to finally take down the Canadians.

“Not getting any sympathy from me,” Jack finally says, at the end of his rope with Kent’s complaining.

Kent stops and looks at him. His face morphs from confusion to betrayal to ‘oh fuck.’

“Right, Canadian,” Kent says. “Sorry Zimms.”

“Who missed their chance to go to the Olympics. The years I was in college, they only took NHL players. Now that I’m in the NHL, they’re only taking minor hockey players. Just my luck.”

“C’mon Zimms, the Olympics isn’t that great,” Kent says unconvincingly.

Jack shakes his head. Yeah right. Like Kent hasn’t been going on about how playing the Olympic team was the one of the greatest experiences of his life.

“I could’ve won _two gold_ s,” Jack says.

Kent finally stops pacing. He stops directly in front of Jack, the coffee table bsetween them. Behind Kent, the faces of the characters remain frozen in hilariously unflattering way. Kent folds his arms across his chest and glares at Jack.

“Rub it in why don’t you,” Kent says sarcastically.

It’s as if Jack can see the 2014 five nothing loss to Finland replaying in Kent’s mind.

“I don’t actually have them,” Jack says.

“Yeah but you know your country is just vastly superior at hockey,” Kent pushes.

“You actually _have_ a silvermedal!” Jack says, exasperated. “I have none! I’m probably never going to get a chance to go the Olympics now.”

“It’s only silver,” Kent says. “Canada wiped the floor with us. The next time around, we didn’t even medal. But _damn_ that Crosby goal. Iggy heard ‘round the world, they say.”

“I don’t have _any_ , Kent. I don’t think you understand that,” Jack stresses. “And yet I could have two.”

Jack remembers watching the 2010 game just out of rehab. His parents were at that game, cheering Canada on. Though it has never been said aloud, Jack’s positive they bought those tickets thinking Jack would be on the team. Of course they still went, Jack assured them it would be fine. Then he watched the game alone in his room and he’d never been closer to a relapse in his life. He couldn’t appreciate the beauty of the game. He screamed at Kent on the screen(Kent didn’t even play that game), wordless and angry.

The 2014 game at the Haus had been easier. Surrounded by his friends, Jack relaxed and enjoyed the hockey. It hurt less than before, even though Jack knew he should be on the team. It was fuzzier than the memory of the 2010 game. The memory faded in the warmth of companionship, not just the hockey. When Americans lost to the Finns in the bronze match – Jack didn’t watch, just heard it secondhand. It was easier not seeing the Parson jersey on the ice.

Kent gets a soft look on his face. His entire posture changes. Stepping around the coffee table, he drops next to Jack and drapes his arm across Jack’s shoulders. Pulling Jack in, Kent tries to cheer him up the only way Kent really knows how: physical contact. His fingers brush against the curve of Jack’s neck and Jack can’t help the shiver that follows. But Kent doesn’t move and Jack knows he can feel the faint beating of his chest, pulse quickening at the touch.

“You won the World Juniors the years you played,” Kent says.

“World Juniors isn’t nearly as important as the Olympics.”

“Zimms, when you stopped, Canada suddenly stopped winning. You were there champion and it basically ruined Canada when you dropped off the face off the earth.”

“Then you got that big win. And a bronze before that.”

“In my last fucking year of eligibility,” Kent mutters.

“Still a big deal,” Jack says.

“Aha!” Kent says. “So you admit it, winning the Juniors is a big deal. Olympics or not, you got to play on the national team and that’s still pretty fucking great.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “It was. I hate that we never got to meet in that final game and really play against each other. I think that’s better than us playing on the same team in the NHL.”

Kent laughs.

“I would’ve accepted my silver medal with grace, knowing I lost to one of the best hockey players in the world.”

Kent’s so close and so genuineit hurts. Jack has to look away. It’s a lot at once. An overload of Kent’s affection and willingness to be so open with Jack. Looking for some sort of way to change the subject, Jack remembers his jersey, professionally framed, in Kent’s home gym.

(In hindsight it wasn’t a great subject change. But Jack was desperate to escape Kent’s expressive eyes, painting a picture of all his feelings. Kent’s always been so easily open with Jack, pouring his feelings out. They had a roadblock but already Jack can see Kent slipping back into their old groove. Unafraid to show Jack allofhis cards.

It would be so easy to fall for Kent again. Kent talking about the jersey only makes the feeling in Jack’s chest grow. Jack feels the pull harder than he ever did when they were teenagers. The medication made him so unaffected and though he had feelings for Kent, they didn’t go deep. Now, relearning Kent and forging a strong bond with him – Jack’s feelings are more intense and rooting deep. It scares him a little, how easy it would be to fall back in to their unhealthy patterns. But he’s willing to navigate the difficult waters of a different relationship.)

“So my Falconers jersey is in your treadmill room,” Jack says. “Bitty pointed it out when I was giving him the tour.”

Kent jerks backwards, putting a space between them. His eyes get, if possible, wider. Taken so aback by the comment, Kent doesn’t even argue Jack calling his home gym a ‘treadmill room.’ (Kent only uses the treadmill and yet owns a variety of of equipment).

“What do you want me to say, Zimms?” Kent asks.

“Do you want me to sign it?” Jack teases.

“ _And ruin it?”_ Kent demands, voice going high.

“Wow, okay,” Jack says.”Looks like someone cares a bit too much about a replica jersey when I could easily get you the real deal.”

He puts his hands up in defense. Even though a signature would up the value of the jersey, Jack highly doubts Kent would ever sell it, the markers tends to bleed over time. Jack can understand Kent’s concerns about preservation.

“I am about to tell you something that I have never told another living soul,” Kent says. “It pertains to you, so I guess you deserve to know. That being said, I will not be happy if you decide to blab.”

“I do not blab,” Jack says.

“Course not. Why else would Bittle be sending Swoops hair dye?”

Jack chokes on his own spit trying to stop the laughter.

“I swear I won’t tell anyone,” Jack says. “Scout’s Honour.”

He raises a hand and puts the other on his chest.

“You were never a boy scout, that means nothing,” Kent says. “But I believe you.”

He settles back in next to Jack, no longer looking like a deer in the headlights. It speaks volumes to Kent’s trust in him. _‘I believe you,’_ the words rattle around in Jack’s head. He clings to them a little bit, remembering the way they fought and how Kent thought every word coming from Jack was a lie. Back when they were trying to force each other into different narratives. Kent’s accusations of lying use to weigh heavily in Jack’s mind, lining up with every negative thing anyone else has said. Now, Kent has genuine trust in him, restored after all these years.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Jack says even though they both damn well know Kent does.

“I was really proud of you when you signed with the Falconers,” Kent starts off. “But was pretty sure I fucked up our friendship beyond repair. So I paid big bucks to get that jersey before they were even officially available.”

“So you own the first Zimmermann Falconers jersey?” Jack asks.

“Other than the one that they made specifically for you? Yeah I’m pretty sure,” Kent says.

“That’s not _that_ _embarrassing_ ,” Jack says.

“Jack. I called in, like, all my favours to get that jersey,” Kent says. “Six years of earning favours and it was for a fucking Falconers jersey. I could’ve gotten a car or something. Instead I got a jersey for another team.”

Jack’s heart leaps into his throat. He feels really weird about the whole thing, but his chest is swelling with joy. Kent went through so many hoops just to show his support for Jack.

“Then I watched every game I could and I wore the jersey,” Kent says. “After you won the Cup, I figured I should retire it since it wasn’t accurate anymore.”

“I appreciate it,” Jack says. “Though it might break my mom’s heart that she didn’t get the first Jack Zimmermann NHL jersey.”

“She can have mine,” Kent says. “It’s good luck.”

“No. You keep it,” Jack says softly. “It’s yours. Plus I signed my mom’s, so you wouldn’t want it.”

Kent makes a face. Anyways, his mom has no use for a Falconers jersey anymore. She’s got a pretty nice Aces one that looks far better.

“Did you get the first Aces one too?” Jack teases.

“Fuck off,” Kent says shoving him lightly. “And no. I have the real thing.”

“I should get my Parson jersey then,” Jack says,

“You can get them for free if you talk to the right people,” Kent says. “I’ll hook you up.”

Jack is very aware of Kent’s connection to the people in charge of merchandising. Every time he meets someone new or is looking to get in someone’s good books, Kent has a piece of merch to hand them.

“Uh no, I own one already,” Jack says. “It’s in Montreal. My dad bought it – after the Draft he thought I might come around and want to support you.”

“Oh,” Kent says.

His eyes shutter and he tries to push away from Jack. But Jack’s tangled their legs together and it prevents Kent from running away.  
  
“It took some time,” Jack says seriously. “But I support you, Kenny. And I’m never going to stop.”

“Gee thanks, Zimms,” Kent says. “Not to be blunt but I kind of needed that more 10 years ago.”

“I know. And I also know I can never make that up to you,” Jack says. “But I’m going to try.”

Jack pulls his phone from his back pocket. There’s a series of text in the group chat about some shenanigans. He ignores them for now. He goes straight to his mother’s contact and hits the talk button. The phone rings a handful of times before his mom picks up.

“Oh Jack! Your father and I were just talking about you,” she says warmly.

There’s no way they would be talking about the Olympics but Jack’s mind makes an ever so slight detour before he slams it back on track. They’ve probably discussed his potential playing for the Canadian Olympic team hundreds of times. Both of them are probably heartbroken Jack’s chances to go keep eluding him. Sure his dad played for the team multiple times in his career, but that had been during the Canadian’s gold medal drought. Jack resolutely does not let his mind wander there.

“We were thinking about heading out to eat, maybe try that restaurant you found a few years ago,” she says. “Have you eaten yet? Any recommendations? Your father is being stubborn, as usual.”

Bitty found it. His mom likely knows that and is avoiding the topic for Jack’s sanity.

“Kent ordered something about twenty minutes ago, I don’t know what it is but he assures me it’s good.”

“Oh you’re with Kent, tell him I say hi. I haven’t heard from him in a bit, tell that boy he owes me a phone call,” she says.

Jack rolls his eyes and looks at Kent. They’re close enough that Kent can hear everything Jack’s mom says.

“Of course, Mom _._ I just called because I need something from the basement,” Jack says. “Can you ship it to me? I’ll text you the address.”

“Still couch surfing, Jack? I can come down to Vegas and help you find a place anytime,” his mom says, completely ignoring his request.

“Mom. I really need what’s in the box,” Jack stresses.

“Oh, of course. What’s in it?” she asks.

He doesn’t hesitate. But he does rush to say it, knowing his mom will read into it. Then she’ll tell his dad and he’ll read in it. Jack will get a bunch of emails from him, concerned about his wellbeing and double checking to make sure he knows what he’s doing. And he’ll have to tell them for the umpteenth time he and Kent aren’t like that.

“Kent’s Aces Jersey.”

“Okay honey, let me just go find it,” she says. “Just stay on the line so I can make sure it’s the right box.”

In the background he can hear his mother moving around. Jack can picture her getting up from the couch and making her way across the house to the stairs into the basement. He times it right and hears the tell-tale creak of the basement door opening and his mother’s feet hitting the stairs. There’s an awkward silence as she walks into the storage room. Eventually she fills the silence by muttering about the various boxes and needing to organize.

“It’s not opened,” Jack says. “There’s a big NHL sticker on it and Dad wrote a note on it for me.”

“ _I know it’s hard right now, but someday this will be important again_ ,” she quotes. “ _Teammates always have your back, even when you lose. Love, Dad_.”

Beside him, Kent’s breath hitches.

“Always with the hockey metaphors, your father,” his mother complains. “Sometimes I wish we could just talk about our feelings in a normal way.”

“Then it wouldn’t be Dad,” Jack says.

“I would’ve have it any other way,” she agrees. “I’ll ship this in the morning for you, Jack.”

“ _Merci_ ,  _maman_ ,” Jack says. “ _Je t’aime.”_

“ _Je t’aime, mon petit_ _lapinou_ _,”_ she replies. “Talk to you soon Jack. You too, Kent.”

She laughs and then hangs up.

“You’ve always been a loud breather,” Jack says as he puts the phone down.

“Or she just knew we’d be close together,” Kent points out. “It’s not unlike us.”

Jack supposes that could be true. His mother has always had a keen sense for these things.

Kent leans back into the couch. He hesitates before pressing play on the TV. A grin spreads across Kent’s face as he turns to look at Jack again.

“So we’re totally going to have to post a picture of us in our jerseys,” Kent says. “It would only be right.”

Jack laughs. Of course Kent would say that. He loves social media and entertaining his fans. This potential picture would tease them in all the best ways.

It’s a nice quiet evening of downtime. No hockey games that need to be played. No practice in the morning. Just the two of them enjoying each other’s company.

(A few days later, Jack’s package arrives. With great care he unpacks it from the box and pulls it out. It smells like home having spent years tucked away in the Zimmermann basement. Kent isn’t home so Jack pulls it over his head and puts it on. The jersey looks weird without the C – Kent has had it longer than he hasn’t. But it’s _right_. Of course Jack owns a non-C Parson jersey. In a world where everything went right, Jack would’ve bought one himself. Kent would’ve sent one too. And vice versa.

Just because he’s only now getting around to it doesn’t make it any less significant.

Looking in the mirror, Jack is suddenly overwhelmed with embarrassment. It feels intimate wearing the jersey. It reminds him of how Bitty was always wearing his Falconers stuff. Pulling it off, Jack carefully folds it back up and puts it away in his room. He’ll show Kent later. They’ll post a picture and everyone will go wild. Jack will pretend it’s definitely not weird.

Especially since he actually likes the idea of wearing Kent’s stuff.)

  

XXXXX

  

Jack’s almost too big for the seats of the arena. Kent tries to tease him about it, but it falls flat. They’re both terribly nervous – Jack even more so than Kent. The moment the words leave Kent’s mouth, he regrets them. Jack’s face goes sheet white and he looks more severe than ever. He finally cut his fluffy mop of hair that Kent loved and now it’s slicked back. It accentuates his sharp cheekbones and ice cold blue eyes. In that moment, Kent thinks Jack has all the worst physical qualities of his parents. A terrible sort of attractiveness. Bob’s dark eyes soften his intense features and Alicia’s extroversion balances her beauty. Jack’s quiet and crisp. He’s intimidating and distant.

Kent hates it.

The tables filled with the General Managers and their teams are abuzz, all the suited men and women speaking rapidly as they prepare to adjust their course the moment the Aces make their choice. _Parson or Zimmermann?_ It’s all Kent’s heard for months – only intensifying in the down period since the season wrapped up. The two of them as rivals instead of a dazzling matched set. They’ve always competed with each other, pushing one another to be better, but Kent thinks ‘rivalry’ is too strong of a term. They’re partners and competition between them is natural, healthy, to be expected.Before they could block it out by just playing the game. Now there is no escape from the rivalry narrative.

Even in the solitude of the Zimmermann’s large yard, free from the city and prying eyes, the Draft was still trapped in Jack’s mind. He clutched magazines and papers with the headline, dreading the day.(Kenttried onceto convince Jack that at the end of the day, the draft order didn’t mean much. The words were like ash on Kent’s tongue. He didn’t quite believe it himself. First Overall meant something – no matter where you’re career went, you were the most wanted player in the NHL. People remember who was first. They don’t remember who was second.)

Those thirty four days seemed so distant, even though they ended yesterday. They were perfect in the limbo. Many quiet moments for the two of them. Kent would call them perfect, even if they were far from it. Just because it was him and Jack against the world.

Kent likes the idea of going first – getting a real chance at the Cup. Maybe one day work his way back on the ice with Jack. First Overall is an exciting prospect and it makes Kent’s stomach flip with excitement. Second is still damn good, but first – first is historic. The one to be remembered. Kent wants that. It would prove a lot of motherfuckers wrong.

Jack wants to be first so bad. He has tried so hard to stifle his desperation, the all-encompassing desire for success. They both want it so much. For 34 days they had more or less ignored that their dreams were on a collision course. Today, it’s all come to head.

“Oh you two look so handsome,” Alicia coos. “Let me get a picture of this. We can’t forget this moment – just before your lives change forever.”

Jack looks downcast at his lap. Kent frowns at him before patting his back and prompting him to look up. Kent smiles for the camera, but he can’t see Jack’s face. From Alicia’s quiet _tsk_ he can only assume Jack did not put on his best face. She immediately corrects herself, wrapping an arm around Jack and whispering how proud she is of him.

Kent looks away. His family isn’t here. He didn’t invite them, but they didn’t want to come anyway. They’ve never thought hockey was a good idea – that the chances of Kent making it big were so tiny that it wasn’t even worth trying. They’re probably sitting at home thinking Kent’s not even going to get drafted, despite being a Top 3 Prospect.

(There is still a very real chance Kent may still not even get a chance in the NHL. The fear lingers in the corner of his mind, seeds sown by his father’s heavy realism.)

So he came with Zimmermanns as his support. Of course they care more about Jack, but Bob and Alicia will cheer just as loudly for Kent.

Arriving moments before the Draft kicks off, Bob offers the three of them an apologetic look. Everyone wants to talk to him. His son is a top prospect. How does he feel? Where does he think Jack will end up? How long until he wins a Cup? Then onto Bob’s own life. What does he think of the state of the NHL compared to when he played? It happens whenever Bob attends a hockey related event. It only stresses Jack out more and Kent wishes he could put a bag over Bob’s head.

A few months ago, Jack drunkenly confessed he wished Bob was a normal dad. Not a superstar hockey player who’s groomed his son from birth and written out Jack’shistory. Just a normal hockey dad who argued with refs (instead of the refs being so starstruck they agree) and didn’t turn every event about Jack into something about him. Kentdidn’treally know how to respond. He thought Bob was an awesome dad. He’d become a surrogate to Kent, teaching him life lessonsand giving Kent a good role model. In Kent’s mind, Bob _was_ the normal dad he wished for.

“This is crazy,” Jack mumbles.

Kent kicks out his leg, bumping their knees together and aligning their ankles. Hopefully his presence will help ground Jack. When Jack doesn’t pull away, Kent assumes it works.

There’s an unnecessary speech before the commissioner calls the Aces to the stage. The arena holds its breath. The hockey community collectively holds its breath. Kent’s heart is beating so hard in his chest it hurts. He wants to to hold Jack’s hand, but knows Jack would hate it. It’s the only thing Kent is sure he wants. He wants to be first, but he doesn’t want to destroy Jack’s entire dream. It’s so fucking complicated and he has no idea what to think.

The Aces’ selection team pours on the stage. The have a black jersey folded up in their arms. Kent can’t see the number or name on it. Purposefully done to increase the tension of the moment. Surely sports reporters are calling who the Aces are going to pick right now. Bets are being made. Maybe even financial lives are on the line.

The blood is rushing in Kent’s ears. He can’t think straight as the Aces’ general manager, Mark Hopkins, walks to the mic. It’s overwhelming knowing that in mere seconds everything is going to change. Gone will bethe soft days of hanging out in the Zimmermann’s backyard shooting shit and speculating about their future in the NHL. It had been so easy back then, pretending it would be okay. Just skipping the Draft and straight to when they were already fantastic players, beloved by their respective franchises.

The crowd cheers and Kent doesn’t react. He doesn’t know what Hopkins said. Eyes wide, he looks at Jack and the Zimmermanns for help. They are all looking at him, stricken. Jack’s face has turned a sickly shade. Alicia and Bob force a smile. Kent’s stomach drops. On the stage the jersey was has unfolded. The number ninety never looked so ugly.

“What are you waiting for?” Bob asks, smiling.

He stands on unsteady legs and nearly trips on Jack’s legs. The moment they make contact, Jack recoils into himself like Kent’s touch is poison. Bob and Alicia stand with him, each of them hugging him. They say they’re proud of him. It’s brittle. They are hurting for Jack, who wanted nothing more than to be drafted First Overall.

(Later, Kent will realize it’s more complicated than that. As Jack explains his own pressures he put onto himself – and those injected in by the hockey world. That he both wanted to be first, to continue to be a hockey star, and to never touch the ice again. That the idea of playing hockey, constantly compared to his father, sickened him. That his career would always be overshadowed and his father would never be proud. And the fear of what if he couldn’t handle the NHL – he played a game and showed the world he wasn’t as good as they thought. Just a fluke. The anxiety was insurmountable, churning around in Jack’s brain and creating a toxic mix of ideas. Being First Overall was only the very surface of Jack’s complex emotions.)

“Jack,” Kent tries but the words fail him.

Jack stands abruptly and sticks his hand out. A robot. He nods, but doesn’t say anything either. His face speaks volumes. They are both lost in this moment. Kent wanted this so badly – but why does it feel so wrong? Would Jack feel this way if he went first? Finally, Kent gets out of the row and shakily walks to the stage. All around him people are cheering. Those close enough for him to hear tell him ‘way to go!’

Stepping on to the stage, Kent is bombarded by hands. He does his best to shake them and smile. They all say ‘welcome aboard’ and ‘we’re glad to have you.’ Kent is speechless. They hand him his jersey and it hits him when he takes it with shaking hands.

  
_Parson, 90_ , stares up at him. It’s glorious. Amazing. Everything Kent’s always wanted. He’s in the NHL now – no matter what happens he’s made it this far. Every statistic his father has recited – Kent has made it here to this moment and beaten the odds.

This is his moment. It belongs to him and him alone. He is First Overall.

Pulling the jersey over his head, Kent comes out grinning. Someone passes him an Aces’ hat but he doesn’t get a chance to put it on. The selection team is lining up around him for a photograph. He grins, proud to be here. He did this. He _earned_ this.

It doesn’t end there. He’s paraded off stage and goes through multiple reporters. He’s so overwhelmed by everythinghe doesn’t guard anything. He’s jubilant, excited, and over the top as the reporters ask him how he’s feeling. Questions about his family’s whereabouts don’t bother him. In this moment, he’s unstoppable. Riding on a high better than anything he’s ever done.

Only when a reporter asks him about Jack does Kent pause. He turns to look up where the Zimmermann’s should be sitting. They aren’t there anymore. His stomach drops and everything is falling around him. The reporter gets someone talking in their ear and turns away to listen. All around him, the tables of selection teams are talking frantically. Something big has happened.

_Left the Draft._

Kent feels numb. His moment stolen, ended prematurely. Not even properly transitioning into the second overall pick. Cut short by the disappearance of the Zimmermanns. Bob must’ve called in one hell of a favour to get the news out. _‘Don’t waste your pick on Jack ‘cause he won’t play for you.’_ Everyone is scrambling. With Jack out, Tavares will be number two and it will ripple through each team's pick. 

He turns and hurries off the floor. Past the empty four seats and out onto the concourse. There’s not many people out here. Everyone is on the floor, glued to the sudden upheaval with one of the top prospects leaving the Draft. He sprints the way they arrived from, knowing the Zimmermanns must have come through here.

“Jack!” Kent yells.

Alicia and Bob falter. They’re alone – Jack must have abruptly left them behind.

“Kent,” Alicia says softly.

Her big eyes are sad, pitying. But she’s heartbroken for her son mostly. Resentful at the boy who stole her baby’s dream.

“Where is he?” Kent demands.

“Son, go back. Enjoy the moment,” Bob says.

It’s good solid advice and he means it – wanting the best for Kent. Bob would know. He went First Overall too. There’s going to be a party put on by the Aces and everyone’s going to be scrambling to meet him, make an impression, and get a read on Kent’s thoughts. Kent doesn’t want that. He wants Jack. He wants the boy he’s in love with to share this moment.

“I have to talk to Jack, I have to –” Kent stops.

“Jack needs to be alone right now,” Alicia says.

“I can’t – I can’t accept that,” Kent says. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Zimmermann.”

“Kent,” Bob says and he pauses, mulling over his words. “Be careful.”

Not acknowledging him, Kent takes off again. He runs down the hall until he reaches the set of stairs they took up from the parking lot. His stupid dress shoes don’t grip well on the concrete steps and he has to hold the railing, using it to leverage himself down corners. He’s sweating underneath the jersey, staining his dress shirt. It’s his only good shirt, but Kent doesn’t care. He has to find Jack.

A few turns later and Kent finds him. Hunched in the corner is Jack. He’s got his pill bottle clenched tightly in his fist and he’s gasping for air, unable to control his lungs. His hair is falling apart around his face.

“Jack,” Kent breathes.

He hurries to him, careful not to startle him. Jack jerks up to look at him anyway, eyes blown wide and pupils huge. They’re red and filled with tears. Kent’s stomach clenches. His heart is back to beating painfully in his chest. Putting his hands up, Kent makes his intentions of helping known.

“We have to loosen your shirt and tie,” Kent says firmly. “It will help you breath.”

“I- I- I can’t,” Jack stutters.

His face is flushed. Holding up his hands, Jack shows off his vibrating hands. He makes an attempt to unclench them but they’re stuck in position, shaking violently. The remaining pills rattle noisily in the bottle.

Taking a cautious step forward, Kent moves at a painfully slow pace. He reaches out and unbuttons Jack’s shirt and loosens the tie around his neck. Swallowing heavily, Jack makes some attempts to breath and looks down at the ground. Kent backs off and lets Jack work through it. The meds should kick in soon – Jack hasn’t eaten anything all day. Counting in his head, Kent follows Jack’s breathing rhythm. He know Jack’s calming mechanisms by heart.

An eternity later, Jack comes back down. The flush disappears, but his ears still burn and his eyes stay red. Flexing his fingers experimentally, Jack regains control of his hands. The tremors calm and the clattering of the pills fade. His hands still shake but he rubs them against his pant legs. Something else to do, Kent guesses.

“Fuck Jack,” Kent whispers.

Jack shakes his head. He hasn’t looked up again. He continues to breath. In and out. In. Out.

In.

Out.

Kent joins him. His pulse slows and the world around him seems to settle. The last few minutes lasted forever. Jack trapped in his personal hell. Kent stuck on the outside, unable to help him and quietly resentful of Jack ruining this for him. Kent quickly stuffs the feelings away into a box. They can fight about it later. After Jack explains _what the fuck he’s just done._

“Congratulations, Kenny,” Jack croaks.

“Don’t say that,” Kent says. “Not if you don’t mean it.”

It comes out harsher than intended. But he handle Jack being angry at him. The idea of Jack faking happiness for his benefit is revolting.

“I don’t know then,” Jack says.

He looks up at Kent and shrugs helplessly.

“I just – I wanted it so badly,” Jack says.

“I know,” Kent says.

He doesn’t apologize. He shouldn’t have to. This is Kent’s. It belongs to him.

“Here,” Kent says. “Take it.”

He hands Jack the Aces’ hat. It’s an impulsive, empty gesture that Kent has no idea how it could help.

“I can’t take this,” Jack says immediately.

“I want you to have it,” Kent presses.

Jack slaps it out of his hands. Kent glares at him.

“I don’t want your damn pity!” Jack shouts.

“What do you want from me?” Kent demands. “You just left the damn Draft! Tomorrow you’re going to wake up and realize you fucked it all away.”

“There’s always next year,” Jack says weakly.

Kent laughs bitterly. So this is what this all about? Leave the Draft this year and hope he gets First Overall next year? That’s never going to work. What’s Jack going to do in the meantime to keep the NHL’s interest? There’s hundreds of other kids in the juniors fighting for that number one pick. Sure Jack’s a generational talent, but NHL teams want fresh faces. They don’t Jack Zimmermann who fucked them over in 2009.

“So that’s it then?” Kent says. “You’re not going to play this year?”

 Jack shakes his head.

“I just – Kenny I don’t know,” Jack says frustrated. “Everything is so loud and I just _acted_ , I didn’t think.”

Kent sighs.

“Okay,” he says, resigned. “I should get back.”

“The world’s waiting for you, Kenny,” Jack says.

Jack gives him the most heartbreaking smile Kent’s ever seen. It should’ve been _us._ The world should’ve been waiting for the two of them, together.

“I’m happy for you,” Jack says.

Kent believes him. But Jack’s always been a good liar and Kent’s always fallen for it because he wants to believe Jack. Kent wants to pretend everything is okay. In hindsight, Kent should’ve known something was terribly wrong. He should’ve pressed Jack harder.

Alicia and Bob arrive. They have concerned looks on their faces. Bob and Kent share a rapid fire conversation in French and Kent can’t keep up. He picks out key bits – ‘Are you okay?’ ‘I am now.’ Alicia pulls Jack into a tight hug, rubbing the back of his neck soothingly. For the first time, Kent feels like he’s intruding on a family moment. He’s finally fallen on the outside of the Zimmermann family.

“Don’t stay out too late tonight,” Bob says to Kent. “See you in the morning. We’ll go for breakfast.”

As if tomorrow morning everything will be okay. Jack will suddenly be over the moon for Kent. Alicia will stop treating Kent like a pariah. Bob’s distance will vanish. It’s a small gesture to show Kent he’s still welcome back at their house, as he’s been staying there since the Memorial Cup.

Or, it could just be the thirty-fifth day. The Draft still to come. Kent will wake up. Alicia will have made a delicious breakfast. Kent and Jack will bicker over something inane and later end up wrestling, then making-out and possibly further if Alicia and Bob are busy, when alone. Bob will laugh as he watches them, eyes glinting with unspoken warmth and affection as he watches them. It will be a perfect morning, just like any others.

“Thanks, Mr. Zimmermann,” Kent says.

He heads back upstairs and back to the Draft.

(The breakfast never happens. The fantasies remain in Kent’s head. Kent comes back to the Zimmermann home and is met by Alicia weeping, paramedics, and Jack’s unconscious form on the bathroom floor. A few days later, after a handful of visits and Jack’s officially checked into rehab – he coldly tells Kent he never wants to see him again. Kent yells at him, telling Jack he’s not going to wait for him. Their bond is cruelly severed.

And the rest, they say, is history.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I Bs'd all the draft stuff. I had a really hard time writing the scene because I hate speculative writing for events that have yet to be revealed in canon. Don't @ me if the hockey stuff is wrong. I spent a lot of time researching and watching the draft and nothing told me this couldn't happen. 
> 
> 2\. the draft scene still became my favourite scene though
> 
> My Parse/Jack playlist I put together for this fic "We Could've Been Heroes" Please enjoy my eclectic choices in music which range from bad pop music to alternative indie to the music your older brother listened to.
> 
> [SPOTIFY PLAYLIST LINK](https://open.spotify.com/user/eph1sfsykiyyjo0isuo0ipk0d/playlist/4X3nYJOZv2vcIGsYPxf7K4?si=tiSJA2AXT-GJH0rxdZeW9w)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are! The last chapter. Thanks to everyone for sticking around and following my labour of love! I had a lot of fun writing Kent and Jack here and deconstructing some of the toxic masculinity athletes have just so these boys could have a happy, healthy discussion. Even though the research and the formatting (still messed up) drove me mad, I incredibly happy with the final product. 
> 
> (Time to disappear into fandom obscurity again for an undetermined amount of time.)

**STANLEY CUP PREDICTIONS MEGA THREAD!**

_(self.hockey)_

 

_submitted 10 hours ago by crosbeez_

 

_(5237 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] ovioviovi + _1393_ 8 hours ago

Caps repeat? Please?

[-] crobeez + _954_ 7 hours ago

You know what? Fuck it. Pens did it let’s see the Caps do it. Cosigned

 

[-] bennynjets08 + _1291_ 5 hours ago

jets redemption tour. It has been foretold.

[-] schoonseattle33 + _743_ 2hours ago

oh honey....

             [-] vegasgold + _103_ 3 hours ago

             i think it’s time for a vegas redemption tour...

                         [-] pva0407 + _206_ 20 minutes ago

                         this guy gets it

 

[-] taterhead + _341_ 3 hours ago

the falcs can totally still make the playoffs if they win... like every game they play from here on out

[-] providence24 + _624_ 3 hours ago

So this is the new ‘here’s how bernie can still win’ but for falcs fans right?

[-] thirdythird + _244_ 1 hour ago

... and hadn’t traded zimmermann away, quite literally handing, at the very least, the conference championship to the aces

[-] bennynjets08 + _23_ 5 minutes ago

the only thing sadder than jets fans :(

 

[-] vegasgold + _39_ 8 hours ago

i mean the aces have it in the bag right? no need to deny it everyone, zimmermann and parser are the quarterback-cheerleader power couple of the NHL right now and there’s no cinderalla story to derail their crowning as promised. And rising from the ashes like a glorious phoenix after the former gm threw them under the bus

edit: wow controversial thanks i guess?

[-] crosbeez + _984_ 7 hours ago

Is it bad I’m more interested in the cheerleader quarterback metaphor than the actual prediction? Who would be the quarterback and who would be the cheerleader?

[-] schoonseattle33 + _755_ 4 hours ago

Zimmermann is the quarterback just because he’s physically larger than Parser. Parser’s all fancy and delicate on the ice

[-] pva0407 + _531_ 10 minutes ago

parser as the cheerleader? C’mon as if zimms didn’t get all starry-eyed supporting parser in a this interview

[-] crosbeez + _0_ just now

Where did you get this? It’s _literal_ gold

[-] taterhead + _129_ 45 minutes ago

Fancy feet strike again!

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _27_ 5 hours ago

this isn’t even a fair prediction to make

 

[-] pva0407 + _0_ just now

aces no brainer

 

XXXXX

 

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

Is that a #ClarenceCampell we see? Off to the #StanleyCup finals! We’ll see you on the other side!

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

@kparsony90 on the Aces season: “We had a rough start of the season with fans and non-fans alike doubting the team. I’ve never been prouder of this team and what they’ve accomplished. I’m glad to be an Ace.”

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

#JackZimmermann says: “@parsony90 may have more Cups, but I’ve won both divisional titles now.”

 

 **Las Vegas Aces** @NHLaces

#JackZimmermann is old school. He’s never touched the #PrinceofWales and now the #ClarenceCampell @parsony90 grabs hold of the #ClarenceCampell every time. Is this double luck?

 

 **Kent Parson** @parsony90

_replying to the @NHLaces_

we don’t need luck we have the skill of one of the best teams in the NHL

 

 **julien maddock** @julmads

_replying to @parsony90_

getting a little to big for your britches there sub-parser?

 

 **Kent Parson** @parsony90

_replying to @julmads_

ha. clever. @me when youve won two stanley cups. #andtheboatloadsofawards

 

 **Laurel!!** @parsevy

_replying to @parsony90 @julmads_

even you can see that the stats don’t lie. the aces have had a phenomenal season year @julmads. proud to be an aces fan!!!

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

aces in five. they’ll lose the second game and come back to win the next three

 

 **Laurell!!** @parsevy

_replying to @hodsomn_

why lose the second?

 

 **Mark** @hodsomn

aces will be countered. every coach has been studying their play since they clinched a playoff spot– but then theyll find their way out of it and blow everyone out the water.

 

 **Rachel Louisa** @rachellamaro

_replying to @NHLaces @parsony90_

hard to believe i doubted you at the beginning of the season! let’s go all the way!!!

 

XXXXX

 

“Fuck game six,” Kent says.

He kicks his feet up on the railing of the hotel staring out at the skyline of the foreign city. Jack rocks back in his chair, eyes distant. No doubt he’s thinking of hockey plays. Someway to break the Aeros’ defense. Kent never thought they’d meet the Aeros in the finals since they use to play in the same conference. But the expansion required some balance of the divisions otherwise the Eastern conference would bloat. Now the Aces are the villain in the Aeros’ scrappy underdog story and first Stanley Cup Finals appearance. But this the Aces’ redemption story and Kent’s not going to let anyone take that away from his team.

“Aeros are really fucking us hard in the third,” Kent continues as if Jack responded. “They gas us in the second and just roll us in the third. It’s a miracle we didn’t lose last night. The fucking turnovers were brutal.”

It had been 1-0 the entire game. Scraps managed a goal in the second period only because it was 5-on-3 after an ugly series of penalties when the Aeros defensemen ganged up on Kent. He has a nasty cut on his lip from that one. Then Aeros stopped them hard at all other opportunities. In the third period, the Aeros switched gears and started getting shots on net like crazy. Fortunately, Novak in goal saved their asses.

The chair Jack’s on snaps forward, the metal legs ringing out on the concrete rectangle this hotel calls a balcony. His face is intense as he presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. He took the losses in game three and four hard. They out shot the Aeros magnificently, Jack was the shot leader for the entire game, but they just couldn’t get them past the goalie, Snowy, Jack’s former teammate from the Falconers 2016 Cup win. He seems to know everything Jack is going to do. In Jack’s frustration, he smashed his stick against the boards when their line was pulled after another failed shot in game four. That’s a highlight somewhere.

“If we lose game six,” Kent says. “Fuck I do not want to go game seven, Jack. That’s exactly where the Aeros want us. Desperate. Fucking scrappy, underdog team. No offense, Scraps.”

He calls over his shoulder back into the room where Scraps is watching some game highlights with Swoops. Everyone is looking for someway to improve their game. Anyway to break the Aeros defense and get the puck into the damn goal.

“I don’t own the word ‘scrappy,’” Scraps replies.

Kent shrugs and turns back to look at the Houston skyline. Jack is still silent, eyes pinched shut.

“Jack!” Kent snaps. “Goddamn, Zimms you gotta get out of that headspace.”

“I can’t with you griping about the game all the time,” Jack snaps.

“You know I run my mouth when I’m nervous,” Kent says.

“And you know I like silence,” Jack says.

“Yeah but then you overthink and psych yourself out. Not to be blunt, Zimms, but we need you on the ball,” Kent says.

“I’m not overthinking it,” Jack says.

Kent highly doubts that. He has an idea or two on how Jack’s head likes to work. Straight past Rationalville and onto the high-speed express to Over-Analysis Central.

“It’s not your fault,” Kent says softly. “You’re playing like a literal legend. I don’t think I’ve ever seen hockey like this before.”

“Snowy knows _me_ ,” Jack says. “He knows how my body looks when I’m about to shoot.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s your fault. Snowy’s a damn good goalie, he’s blocking tons of shots – not just yours,” Kent says.

“But I’m getting the most shots,” Jack says. “You’re getting the puck down the ice, no problem. Everyone’s saying we’ve never played better hockey, but I can’t _fucking_ score.”

“Then let’s get Connelly on it,” Kent says. “I’ll get the puck, pass to you, and you set up Connelly for a one-timer.”

“He can’t handle it,” Jack says. “This is his first NHL season – the playoffs are killing him. He’s tired and needs the season to end. His shots have been sloppy and lead to easy turnovers.”

Jack stares off at the sky. Kent is at a loss for words. He’s the captain – he needs to say something inspiring. To draw up one of his speeches. Something to give Jack the motivation to get through Snowy. Or just something to get his mind of the Finals. An impossible task given it’s all Kent can think about too.

“Hey guys listen to this!” Swoops calls.

Kent pushes the sliding door open a bit more and Scraps turns up the volume. He turns his body around to have a better vantage point of the TV. It’s uncomfortable but he can make out the talking heads going on about last night’s game.

“... everyone’s been talking about these two years. When Zimmermann was signed by the Falconers four years ago everyone freaked out. Now we’re here with the two of them poised to win the Stanley Cup together. What do you think of it, Jeremy?”

“Well Yvonne, I’m Canadian so you know the junior leagues really mean something to us up North. I was starting my sports journalism career when Zimmermann and Parson won the Memorial Cup. I was at the game, covering the win. I saw the two play for real – that’s when I realized I hadn’t loved the sport until the moment. The two took something great and made it amazing.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that, Jeremy. Must’ve been hell of a game.”

“Not anymore. That game is garbage.”

Kent winces. He chances a look at Jack, who’s clearly listening to despite having his back turned to room. Unable to see his face, Kent hopes Jack isn’t too upset about the comment. He’s about to tell Swoops to turn it off when the commentator continues.

“These last five games – even the losses – that has been the most magnificent hockey I’ve ever seen. Zimmermann and Parson are on a whole other level than the other players on the ice. They’re dominating the game. Parson has the highest puck possession for the series – no one can take it away from him. Zimmermann is getting shot after shot. Parson’s footwork is over the top gorgeous. The two of them are seamlessly working together. Barely even needing to look at each other to communicate six plays ahead. One of them gets a break away and the other is with them before the Aeros can even figure out the puck is gone.”

“And yet here we are, going into Game Six. The way you’re talking, the Aces should’ve swept the Aeros. Put this to bed two games ago.”

“I don’t think you need goals to play beautiful hockey, Yvonne. Yeah it’d be the icing on the cake, but I’m sure Parson and Zimmermann are banging their heads together trying to get around the Aeros’ goalie. Not to mention the d-men clogging up those passing lane. The Aeros really know how to go hard in the third.”

“Well I’m certainly looking forward to tomorrow’s game. The Stanley Cup will be in the building with the Aces one win away from becoming our 2019 champions. Now let’s talk about the Aeros...”

Scraps turns the volume back down. Swoops yawns next to him.

“Go to bed,” Kent says. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

Swoops opens his mouth to protest, but Scraps drops his hand on his shoulder. He nods at Kent.

“Night, Parser,” Scraps says. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Kent nods.

“You too Zimmermann, don’t get lost in that brilliant hockey head of yours,” he adds.

Jack doesn’t respond and Scraps doesn’t comment on it. He knows how Jack operates now too. Swoops echoes Scraps sentiments albeit with a bit more pep before the two leave Kent’s room. Once the door shuts behind them, Kent turns back to the balcony. The leader in him is saying he should send Jack to bed. But he knows Jack won’t fall asleep anytime soon.

Grabbing the armrest, Kent shoves the chair closer to Jack. It makes an unpleasant scrapping noise and Kent grimaces at the noise. Jack continues to be unaffected by anything in the outside world.

Impulsively, he reaches over and grabs Jack’s hand. It’s cold and shaking a bit. The angle is awkward due to the armrest but Kent’s willing to make it work. Jack sighs heavily and his head hangs low. Tilting it to look at Kent, Jack gives him a half smile.

“You know the physical contact thing is what you do when you need comfort?” Jack says. “I don’t really like to be touched.”

He still keeps his hand clasped with Kent’s. A warmth blooms in Kent’s chest.

“Shut up, it helps everyone,” Kent huffs. “Everyone could use a hug or a pat on the back to let them know it’s going to be okay.”

“Fair point,” Jack says. “But it’s one of your tells.”

“Are you trying to tell me I can’t be nervous about tomorrow’s game? News Flash, Zimms, I’m nervous before every game – especially the big ones.”

“You’re really good at managing it,” Jack says.

“Can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Kent says airily. “But I almost shit my pants before my first playoff game. Then I actually threw up. Troy laughed at me and was entirely unsympathetic.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. What was he going to do? Be my mom and hold my hand? Put a cold cloth on my forehead?” Kent says. “He gave me a fiver for a ginger ale and told me to get my shit together ‘cause we were going to win.”

“Ouch,” Jack murmurs.

Kent shrugs. It had worked. Even if he had vastly preferred some sort of physical contact, Troy had helped. Kent nursed the ginger ale and then jumped out onto the ice for the morning skate. Later, Troy gave him shit for skipping breakfast and for once again ignoring his advice. Kent told him off, but took it to heart. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

“We won, so does it really matter?” Kent asks.

Of course it does,” Jack says. “I probably would’ve been on my knees with you.”

Jack squeezes Kent’s hand. His stomach flutters uncomfortably and his throat seems to close up. The open affection from Jack is suffocating. Kent loves it but doesn’t want to read to deeply into it. That would only upset Jack – Kent’s always been looking for more from Jack. These past few months, Kent has been unable to help the expected surge of feelings. It’s been so easy to fall for Jack again. It’s harder to shove all those feelings in box when Jack looks at him like _this_ and says shit like _that._

“Kinky,” Kent says to diffuse the situation.

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean,” Jack says fondly. “We support each other, even if the others think we’re soft.”

“Your support included letting me dye my hair purple when we made it to the Memorial Cup finals,” Kent says fondly. “I’ve learned to take everything with a grain a salt.”

“I certainly enabled you back then, didn’t I?” Jack says. “We were stupid teenagers.”

“We sure were,” Kent says.

The taste in his mouth sours. Being a stupid teenager including confessing his love for Jack. _Being_ in love with Jack. It’s easy for Jack to write it all off, but for Kent, with his newly returned feelings it’s so hard to pretend Kent isn’t going to fuck this all up again. No matter what Jack says, that it wasn’t his fault, it was Kent who pushed too far. Who wanted more from their relationship than Jack was willing to give. It would only be right if Kent developed feelings for Jack years later because Jack  _fucking_ Zimmermann is so goddamn easy to love.

There’s a tugging at his hand as Jack pulls him back into reality. It’s not a conscious decision. Jack has brought their joined hands up to his chin. He’s back to thinking about tomorrow’s game. Kent’s hand is so close to Jack’s mouth. He can feel the warm air brushing against his skin. It feels too intimate. The hair on the back of Kent’s neck stands up and he can’t help the thrill of pleasure that runs down his spine.

“Jack,” Kent breathes.

He leans in, suddenly needing to be closer to Jack. Their chairs are already pressed up against each other. Somewhere along the way, their legs match up. The two of them are magnets, bodies unconsciously attracted to each other. Always seeking each other out. They fit together nicely. They always have.

“Hm?” Jack says.

He turns and they’re face to face. Jack’s so close and now Kent can feel the warm breath on his cheeks. Jack’s eyes are blown wide, his mouth parts, and he drops their hands back into his lap. Kent tries to find any indication that Jack might want this. But the moment is broken when Jack jerks back, turning away. Embarrassed, Kent reclaims his hand and knots it together with the other in his lap.

“Kenny,” Jack begins.

Kent shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hear Jack’s rejection. Without a doubt Jack knows exactly how Kent feels. He’s always said Kent’s eyes reflect his mood. That they show off his entire soul, if you know how to look.

“Don’t,” Kent mumbles. “Fuck, _fuck!_ I just – I don’t know.”

“No – I got it,” Jack says. “How to beat the Aeros.”

He grins. Large and goofy. Of course Jack was thinking about hockey. Fucking nerd can’t get enough of the stuff. Even in what is the most intimate moment Kent has had since last May. Cock Blocked by Hockey: The Kent Parson Story. In a perfect love story movie, Jack would’ve kissed Kent right there. It would’ve been the perfect narrative. But this isn’t a movie and Jack doesn’t feel the same way.

“Let’s reverse the one-timer,” Jack says.

“We already do,” Kent says, confused. “The round 1, Game Four winning goal? All me.”

Jack shakes his head.

“We haven’t done that in this series yet,” Jack says. “We never reverse it in important games because you think it’s too risky.”

“Yeah because it _is_ too risky. I’m right-handed on the left, it’s more complicated to shoot and easier to block,” Kent says. “It won’t help us.”

“Yes it will,” Jack insists. “Listen Kent, you’re an amazing hockey player. A generational talent. If anyone can make this shot – it’s you. I know you can do it.”

He’s so earnest and open and supportive. No one has ever believed in Kent the way Jack has. Not even Troy or Swoops. The two of them love Kent, but they weren’t the first to really see Kent the way Jack did. Fuck. If Kent didn’t have feelings for Jack now, he’s surely head over heels now.

“We get an opportunity, you tear down the ice,” Jack says. “You pass it off to me – I look like I’m about to take a shot and Snowy looks to block. But you’re the quickest player on the ice and I pass it back. You smack it right into the net. Top shelf!”

“Calling it already?” Kent teases.

Jack’s ears light up. He got way too in to the fantasy, even throwing his hands up in the air to celebrate the imaginary goal. But Kent can see it too. He can see the two of them winning the Cup this way. He’s Double Double. Of course he can do this.

“It’ll only work once. Maybe twice,” Kent says. “The Aeros are adaptable.”

“All we need is one,” Jack says.

He gives Kent a confident smile. The best of the Jack Zimmermann’s smiles. Even better than the private soft ones. Because this is the one the entire world gets to see, but it’s always only ever directed at one person. And when it’s on Kent, the rest of the world doesn’t matter.

 

XXXXX

 

**GAME SIX STANLEY CUP RECAP & BEST OF**

_Buzzfeed Sports | Richard Bellisario_

 

**RECAP:**

Last night’s game was one for the history books. The Aces arrive in Houston with a 3-2 lead in the series. If they can pull it together for game six, they’ll win their third Cup in franchise history. The Aeros haven’t been so easily pushed aside. After all, this is their first Stanley Cup appearance since the team joined the league.

After a heartbreaking loss in Game One (5-1), the Aeros came back with a vengeance. They lost Game Two, but it was far closer (3-2) and then followed the momentum and won both Games Three and Four. It was incredible, the Aces’ unstoppable duo of Zimmermann and Parson finally met their match with the Aeros. Lance Snowdon, the Aeros’ goalie and Zimmermann’s former teammate is their Achilles’ Heel.

He knows exactly how Zimmermann works.

Game Five was hard fought and controversial. The Aces pulled off the win when defenseman Oyer managed a goal after the Aeros took two penalties simultaneously. Aeros fans think it’s blatant favouritism for Parson, a player with a known reputation. Some even think it’s making up for the missed call against Alexei Mashkov (who was later suspended for the hit) and had Parson out for eight weeks with a shoulder injury.

The Aces retook the lead and the Aeros got home field advantage for Game Six. Analysts were suspecting the series to be forced into a Game Seven, but the Aces would not let that happen.

The first two periods were goalless but good hockey was played. Zimmermann and Parson were separated temporarily in the first period, Zimmermann playing with left winger Maric and rookie right winger Connelly for the majority of the first period. Aces’ coach Keller realized the Aeros had their number and needed a way around to get around it. Aeros controlled the puck and you could tell Zimmermann was getting angry. Fortunately Vegas’ new star defensive partners, Oyer and Moretti kept it together.

Second period saw a change in flow. Parson was back on the first line and holding possession of the puck for the Aces. Zimmermann was rattled after the first period though and wasn’t playing at his best. When they left the ice for the break, you could Parson giving Zimmermann the Talk. He needed to get it together so they could end the series then and there. Game Seven – even at home – would be a death sentence. The Aeros do best when put in corner.

The miracle on ice occurs in the third period. Right out of the gate, Zimmermann is a new person. Fresh head and playing the hockey we’ve wanted to see the whole game. Aggression and frustration are gone – he and Parson are on fire. Six minutes in, Parson gets a breakaway. In front of the net, he passes it to Zimmermann. Everyone collectively sighs because they’re wasting their time – this hasn’t worked on Snowdon except for in Game One. Zimmermann looks to shoot and then unexpectedly hits it back to Parson! Parson gets the one-timer and sets the score.

Everyone knows this is it. With Zimmermann back on his game and on the ice with Parson, the Aeroes won’t be able to get enough possession. The Aces defense is on lockdown. Aeros get desperate and risky. They pull their goalie after Oyer took a penalty for high sticking in the last minute, trying to force the game into overtime. Even with the 6-on-4, the Aeros can’t get it. Parson snags the puck and Zimmermann slams it right into the net right as the buzzer goes.

 

**BELLISARIO’S BEST OF:**

While every game was exciting this series, Game Six took the cake.

 

**Parson’s Game Winning Goal**

It’s no secret the fans love a good one-timer. The fans certainly go wild for the Zimmermann-Parson no-look one-timer, established firmly during their time together in the QMJHL. It had a rocky start this season when Parson and Zimmermann initially took to the ice, but they smoothed it out and it was an impressive tool for the Aces’ arsenal. Though the traditional method had Parson passing the puck to Zimmermann – the goal in this game had Parson shooting – something we had seen before. A risky move if Parson wasn’t at the exact right place. You could see it in his face he loved it when the puck hit its mark.

‘Top shelf!’ Parson shouted as Zimmermann slammed into him. Zimmermann repeated it back. From that, we can all agree the goal was clearly planned from the start.

 

**Snowdon’s Killer Save in the Second & Zimmermann’s Penalty for Goaltender Interference**

Crashing the goal is more of Parson’s move, but Zimmermann seems to have picked up a few tricks from his time with Vegas. Frustrated by lack of progress, Zimmermann charged the net and caused a bit of a pile up in front of the net. The puck was shot before Zimmermann collided with the net, but Snowdon stopped it in his tracks and continued to protect it as Zimmemann got in close.

It didn’t amount to anything. Zimmemann didn’t score. The Aeros couldn’t get anything done on the power play.

 

**Parson and Zimmermann Having an Argument on the Bench in the First Period**

Parson was switched with Maric, the second line LW, for the entire first period so he and Zimmemann didn’t get much time together. When the third line was out, Parson made a beeline for Zimmemann, shoving right next to him on the bench. The camera stayed on them as the two argued about the game, both likely annoyed at how things were going.

Here’s a lip reader’s translation. It’s short and crude, but it’s a hell of a ride and gives you a great insight into how the two operate.

 

**Bad Bob’s Post Game Interview**

“Those boys – they’ve been dreaming about this moment since they were kids. When they met – they knew they wanted to win it playing on the same team. It was a hard reality realizing it wouldn’t be easy but they never stopped working hard. I know Jack – he thought his NHL career was over. And Kent – I know he struggled with Jack’s absence. Yet here they are, both lifting the Cup. I’ve never been prouder to be Jack’s father. Both of them. I’m proud of both of them.”

[taken from this interview]

 

‘ **Together?’ ‘Together.’**

There’s a lot to unpack here. Lord Stanley was on the ice, the Commish was was standing next to it announcing the Aces’ victory. The crowd – while mostly Aeros’ fans still held a strong contingent of Aces fans – was going wild. It would be Parson’s third time hoisting the Cup. He had just put the ‘2019 Stanley Cup’ champions hat on (backwards, of course) and then shoved one onto Zimmermann.

The Commish calls for Parson – it’s his right as the captain to take Cup first. Then pass it on in a well choreographed and adhered to order. There’s been a few notable exceptions to this rule. And this is definitely one for the history books.

Let’s take a slight detour. There’s a lot iconic 2-person quotes. The one that springs to mind for me, is in ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ when Leia tells Han she loves him and he replies with ‘I know.’ This particular moment is not of romantic love, but the immense bond of two men brought together by their love of hockey (there’s a reason why Bad Bob’s quote is right above).

So Parson doesn’t hesitate the moment he’s called up for his duty; his privilege. He turns to look at Zimmermann and asks ‘Together?’ And Zimmermann answers. ‘Together.’ Perfectly captured on TV and barely heard through the din of the crowd, but easily read by even the most amateur lip reader.

So the two skate over together, for this long awaited moment. Together they lift the Cup and share that moment. Zimmermann remarked in this morning’s press conference it didn’t matter that they had won it before separately. Looking at Parson – the joy and wonder was as if he had won it the first time. Finally Zimmermann passes it off to Parson, and he takes his skate. Zimmermann is second – followed by Novak, the MVP of this series.

It was a fairytale win for those two boys. And they did it. Together.

 

XXXXX

 

“So welcome to Talking Hockey, a podcast in which we breakdown the week’s hockey news. And as the hockey season ended last week with the Aces winning their third franchise Cup, it’s on to the off-season. That means it’s time for interviews while we sort through contract news. I’m your host Fran Jung. As you’ve might have noticed, Lou isn’t here to interrupt which is because I have probably one of the most important guests we’ve ever had on Talking Hockey: the Las Vegas Aces’ general manager, Wayne Schroeder!”

“I don’t know if I’m _that_ important.”

“Please you just pulled off something huge. Everyone’s belief in the Aces was eviscerated by your predecessor and his team – which included many on the selection committee and the training teams. You had to rebuild the empire from the ground up.”

“I mean, yes, the franchise was a mess when I stepped in. Mr. Redford was frantic. He loves the Aces and everything was unravelling in front of him – he had trusted many of the men and women who betrayed him. But my team, especially Mica, the assistant GM, were fantastic. They were hard working and willing to put the hours in to get the team back in order. But really, so many of the players were incredible we just had to fill in missing pieces and do some damage control.”

“ _Some_ damage control seems like a bit of understatement. I’m not saying there were riots, but people were burning their jerseys and swearing off the team. The entire NHL and its fanbase had turned against the Aces.”

“Well, the commissioner’s office had to vet all the new hires personally. Mr. Redford’s judgement was considered impaired. Additionally, we’ve been subject to numerous check-ups through the year. A lot of of the job has been maintaining the internal balance. Our image would improve as long as our players played well. And our players would play well if we had full transparency. It took some time to get everyone onboard, but took a considerably shorted time than I expected. I really have to thank our captain, Kent Parson, for that. The team respects him immensely and he loves the Aces more than anything. As soon as I had his trust, I knew we could do this.”

“Talk about Parson for a bit. I’ve heard a lot about his leadership and how much of an asset he is to the Aces. But he also has a bit of a reputation based on how he plays. Not a lot of people like that and it translates to how he’s perceived. How did you meet? What was your first impression?”

“Fran, I’ll level with you – I wasn’t supposed to meet Parson as quickly as I did. When I was hired, Redford and the commissioner’s office wanted to isolate and vet me beforehand. Get me orientated and understand the gravity of the situation. I had worked in a GM’s office before as the assistant, but I had never been in charge and never given a situation so dire. The Aces were in crisis. Contracts hung in the balance while players, and training staff were panicking.”

“So it made sense to give you some acclimatization time.”

“The truth, as I found out, is that it was something I couldn’t afford. I had to hit the ground running. Get the players’ organized, the ones we just drafted, who got assigned where, signing them, negotiating contracts with players before they became RFAs or UFAs. It was my first real day of the job when Kent Parson barged into my office.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I was speechless. He didn’t start ranting at me. He looked scary as hell. And you know Kent’s not a hulking dude like some NHLers. He’s 5’10 and 170 pounds. He is a stick compared to a lot the guys on the team. I’m pretty sure he’s the shortest on the team and a lot of the vets still call him kid. But he’s in my office and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. My receptionist is yelling at him that he can’t be here. And all he asks me is ‘what can I do to help?’”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He left his vacation and flew back to Vegas to help handle the situation. He told me he’s been assuring all of his teammates the situation was handled. It was incredible. Captains are kind of being phased out in the NHL since they aren’t completely necessary. And here’s Kent who takes the role far more seriously than I’ve ever seen and his team respects him for it.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well I had to give him an answer. Not just in what he can do – what he can tell his teammates. He’s been saying the situation is handled and I can’t make a liar of him. So I called Mica up and the rest of the selection team and got right to the nitty gritty. Contracts needed to be negotiated. The organization needed to be ready for its training camp or else we couldn’t have handled the season.”

“Totally! You joined the Aces team at the beginning of July. The Draft was behind you, in addition to numerous trade deadlines. Contracts must have been screwed up.”

“Oh naturally, we lost a few players to free agency. Carlson for one, our first line centre. We lost him in the preseason. It was rough because we didn’t even have our second line centre – Jeff Troy – who had retired at the end of the season. Just a side now there’s another man dedicated to the franchise. A vet who Kent respected a lot and relied upon to help support the team.”

“Sounds like you had a lot of help in holding the team together.”

“Absolutely.”

“So in the preseason you had third stringer Nico Koci playing the first line centre. It was rough, especially since Connelly was a rookie who you just called up from the AHL. We all know what happened in November but give me a play by play what happened leading to the acquisition of Jack Zimmermann, a move that undoubtedly took you to the Stanley Cup Finals.”

“Well my predecessor’s atrocious interview had just appeared. I remember sitting in my office watching it and was just horrified at the things he said. He manipulated the Aces, most of all he manipulated Kent’s leadership and trust in the team to gain power. The Jack Zimmermann thing didn’t immediately register. To be honest, I hadn’t been a good GM and been completely oblivious to the Zimmermann-Falconers issue.”

“I’m sure a lot of teams were chomping at the bit waiting for him to become a UFA. The Falconers GM really screwed up there.”

“So did I! I didn’t even notice it was happening. A good GM would be preparing cap space to make Jack the best offer. And I was the GM of the Aces – I should’ve noticed this. I feel terrible about it.”

“You were new and working overtime, I think it can be forgiven. Especially since the Fates were in your favour.”

“The Fates name is Mica Wolf. So like a few weeks after the interview, Jack rejects the Falconers’ qualifying offer. We’re in early November now and the first line is working decently under Kent’s leadership. He just elevates players around them. All around me, analysts are predicting we’re going to miss the Playoffs because our first line is amateur hour. We’re not losing, but we’re not winning.

“Anyways, Mica. She runs into my office – hot off the presses she says. Jack Zimmermann has rejected the Falconer’s qualifying offer. December 15th isn’t far away and we can be ready to pick him up as a UFA. But Mica says no, we have to make a bold move.We have to make a statement as the new Aces selection team.”

“So offer sheet.”

“Offer sheet.”

“Now offer sheets aren’t generally appreciated. They are seen as backhanded and sneaky, stealing a player right from under another GM’s nose. You must have weighed the pros and cons. This was your first year as a GM and barely months away from a scandal you were still feeling the heat from.”

“Oh yeah, I sat on it for a week. Then we started losing. Kent is good and he makes others better, but it was burning him out. I couldn’t do that to Kent – not after everything he’s done for the team. For _me_. I had to get him a partner on the ice. The first line is the scoring line and we needed someone to fill the void. Third and fourth were strong and could hold their place, but it’s during the first and second lines where things get done. We had Koci, but we needed someone else. There were tons of other centres I could’ve traded for, but no I wanted Jack. There was no substitute.”

“Did Hopkins' comments play any role?”

“Of course they did, Fran! That man destroyed Jack on national television. Saying the Aces never wanted him, like he was some garbage player. My heart hurt for him. For the kid who crumbled in 2009. For the player whose team is shoving him around with contract negotiations.Hopkins may have not wanted him for the Aces, but I did. I knew in my very core that Jack Zimmermann belonged in Vegas. Now he’s our Conn Smythe winner. So I called Mica on Saturday and said we’re offer sheeting Zimmerman. Next Monday he’s at practice. Following evening, we’re back to winning.

“The other GMs may hate me and people are unhappy with the move, but I got Jack on a team that appreciates him. Mica did, sorry. She got me over my fear of offer sheets, which in fairness I probably won’t do again. It doesn’t always end up this well. We lost some draft picks, too but we’ve got a Cup and Zimmermann-Parson.”

“That’s quite the story. A lot of people hated the move. But more agreed with it. The Falconers weren’t appreciating Zimmermann. When you won the Cup – you immediately got him a contract extension. Five years with the Aces. Matching him the Parson.”

“And hopefully more Cup wins.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Now let’s get into the future of the team. You mentioned earlier, you were under heavy scrutiny by the league. Has there been any repercussions for the team after the scandal?”

“In terms of punishment for the team? Not really. Everything we do is under heavy review and will probably remain that way for some time. The League may be taking legal action against the former staff. There’s been a huge investigation into how much everyone knew. Those involved were good at covering their tracks and the League has found those not involved are completely cleared and had no knowledge. Therefore no punishment needed.”

“Thanks for your time, Wayne. Congratulations on the season and I’m looking forward to seeing you at the 2019 Draft.”

“Thanks for having me, Fran. I hope people will listen to this and see I’m not quite the villain for the offer sheet as they think.”

 

XXXXX

 

(img)

 

**lvaswoops**

kit purrson: stanley cup champion 2019

 

**jackzed**

hahaha this is so cute!! kit taking a nap in the cup she’s such a princess

 

 **173 notes** # _kent’s cat is 100% the best reason to follow him on social media #also now that i have your attention can i just_ _say_ _i am absolutely not over together?_ _t_ _ogether.????, it’s the new okay? okay. #except it’s about hockey players who won the stanley cup after a decade of dreaming about it #and adversity and battling the odds of injuries and addiction and potentially career ending catastrophes #and not teens with cancer in a john green book #BOTH MAKE ME CRY THOUGH!!!!! #kit purrson #hockey shit #ACES STANLEY CUP CHAMPIONS 2_ _K_ _19_

 

 **lvaswoops** replied to this post: haha mel your tags. they hurt so good. i love our hockey boys #together <3 <3

 

 

(img)

 

**zimmboninumber1**

jlzimms: @kparsony90 the off-season is here time to hit the beach! 🌴

 

**aces90**

I love the bucket hat!! kent looks way cuter in it that his regular snap back

 

**jackzed**

jack has an instagram account???? paging winry @lvaswoops how have we missed this!!!!!

 

 **265 notes** _#um excuse me how have i not known about this??? #hockey shit #kent parson_ _#ALSO WHEN IS HE GOING TO SHAVE THAT EMBARRASSMENT OF A PLAYOFFS BEARD_ _#and his lip is almost healed... looks like it might scar though_

 

 **aces90** replied to this post: @jackzed it’s not verified but a few of his friends twitters (and recently kent) have tagged this account. it seems legit since it has a lot of never before seen photos of the aces

 

 **jackzed** replied to this post: @aces90omg thank you!! ive followed it already~~

 

 **zimmboninumber1** replied to this post: @jackzed it’s like all ~artsy photos~ but we’ve known for awhile jack is a photographer so it makes sense. it’s only recently that there’s pictures of jack’s friends.

 

XXXXX

 

Jack is on his computer, double checking his mom’s arrival time for tomorrow morning when Kent rolls into the living room with his last suitcase. The rest of his stuff (except for Kit) has been shipped off to the beach house. He’s wearing the ridiculous bucket hat Swoops bought him. Still refusing to take it off, everyone’s started to tease him about it being the equivalent of Swoops’ shitty macaroni art Kent insists on hanging on the refrigerator. Jack chirps Kent about it, but secretly thinks Kent pulls it off.

Kent could pull anything off, in Jack’s mind.

“Fuck I’m so ready for this off-season,” Kent says. “Do you know how many days of vacation I got last season? Sixteen, Jack. I got sixteen.”

“You make millions of dollars and only got sixteen days at a secluded beach mansion in Florida, your life is so hard,” Jack teases.

Kent throws his hands in the air. Jack understands the weariness though. Albeit Kent’s series of meetings and work that ended his vacation early were more significant than Jack’s contract dispute. At the end of the season, Jack is exhausted. He has lost weight and wants nothing more than to sleep for a month. As Jack has learned, Kent likes to hide away in a beach house, occasionally inviting teammates up for visits. Jack plans on returning to Montreal as he always does. Before, he’d spend time in Georgia with Bitty. They’d travel too. Last season, Jack spent it all in Providence with his agent and the Falconers management. This is the first off-season Jack is going to get all to himself.

“So you’re coming down to Florida after Montreal, right?” Kent asks. “No pressure or anything.”

“That’s the plan,” Jack says.

He smiles at Kent, who is oddly nervous about the whole thing. It will just be the two of them for like three weeks before they head to back in Vegas. Maybe Kent is thinking about the time they spent together before the Draft, before shit hit the fan. Jack doesn’t fault him for being nervous, but by now Kent has to know they’re good. Hell, they’re better than good.

“Then we’ll fly back to Vegas together for training camp and start this whole crazy cycle again,” Jack adds.

“And you’ll have a real season with the Aces,” Kent teases.

“Winning the Stanley Cup wasn’t real enough?”

He turns away from his laptop to to give Kent a raised eyebrow.

“You won sure, but they’ll always be that little asterisk,” Kent says. “You and I, we’re going to go all the way. Double win. No injuries. No late starts. You and me, every game and a season better than last.”

“Getting mighty prophetic there,” Jack says. “I see your pride hasn’t diminished.”

“C’mon Zimms, when you’re as good as us – we deserve a little pomp and circumstance.”

He walks into the kitchen and around the counter, peeking at Jack’s laptop screen. As Kent passes, his hand brushes the back of Jack’s arm. An old, thoughtless gesture Kent did a lot when they were in the Q. Physical contact has always been Kent’s tell, a show of affection. Despite the ephemeral nature of the action, Jack understands the deep significance behind it. The deep trust it represents. Jack took it for granted before – but it was only after he and Kent reunited he realized what Kent meant. The small, electric touch sends shivers down his spine. He missed it like a lost limb.

(The first time Kent did it a few months ago, Jack’s whole mouth went dry. He hadn’t realized how much he craved the feeling. How it _still_ felt like the first time. Kent scrunched up his nose, weirded out by Jack’s reaction, unaware of what he had done. Jack could only smile, chest bursting with love.)

“Flights to Vegas?” he asks.

“Yeah I’m picking my mom up,” Jack says.

“Why would she be flying here if you’re just going to Montreal?” Kent asks.

He walks back around the counter and opens the fridge. It’s been mostly emptied of its contents since Kent leaves tomorrow and Jack is leaving in less than a week. For someone who doesn’t clean up after himself often, Kent’s a stickler for a tidy fridge. Looking back down at his computer, Jack sees that his mother’s flight has been pushed forward. There’s enough time for an overlap between Kent at the airport and his mom. Maybe he can talk Kent into getting there early and having breakfast together.

“We’re going to look at places tomorrow. I’ve narrowed it down to a few, but I need her help,” Jack says easily.

There’s a bang. Jack jerks upwards. The fridge is open and Kent looks shocked. Did Jack not tell him he was planning on moving out? Did Kent assume he and Jack were going to be roommates forever?

“Um, sorry,” Kent stammers.

Crouching down, Kent picks up the gatorade bottle he dropped. Jack shuts his laptop and looks at Kent. Something is wrong, but Jack can’t put his finger on it.

“What’s up?” Jack asks.

“I thought we were getting along,” Kent says. “Why do you want to move out?”

“I’m adult, I need my own place,” Jack says. “It’s fun living with you, but I have to do my own thing too.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that still makes sense,” Kent says. “I mean I knew it would happen. I dunno, I guess I just forgot.”

His eyes are downcast and he’s still upset. It’s frustrating that he won’t say anything to elaborate on why. Jack thought they were all about communication and talking about their issues, instead of bottling them up and shoving them away. That’s what got them in trouble the first time around.

“Kent, come on,” Jack says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Kent shrugs.

“It’s dumb,” he says. “It’s nothing we haven’t been over before.”

Jack’s really confused. He has no memory of any such conversation. But Kent’s being purposefully vague so Jack isn’t really sure. Whatever is happening in Kent’s mind, he has to be internalizing it.

Moving out shouldn’t be such a big deal. In fact, Jack thinks that Kent should be thrilled. Jack moving out means that their relationship could potentially be amped up. Jack’s not an idiot, he has seen the looks Kent is giving him. He isn’t exactly subtle. At the same time, Jack’s willing to try again with Kent. The feelings he has for Kent as so real. When their eyes met under the Cup – Jack knew for sure. It was kind of perfect for Jack; to fall in love underneath the Stanley Cup.

(Or maybe it was moments before when Kent asked him, without hesitation, to pick it up with him. It took Jack’s breath away. Jack was grinning so hard it hurt as he skated alongside Kent to pick the Cup up. Kent has always been so considerate of Jack, including him easily. Even after Kent had been in his face, fiercely telling Jack to get his shit together after the disastrous second period, Jack felt an overwhelming affection for him.)

They can’t start a relationship when they’re living together. That would asking for trouble. Someday they could move in together but for now they need their own space. Back in the Q they lived in each other’s pockets, between locker and hotel rooms, and Jack never had anywhere to go. Kent was always right there. If they are going to do this right – Jack needs his one place. Especially one that is not beholden to Kent.

“Come on Kenny don’t be like that,” Jack says. “Talk to me.”

“Zimms, shit, sorry I freaked out. I just – I got to wrapped in everything I forgot you living here was temporary,” Kent says. “I get it. You need your own space. It’s not like you’re leaving forever. We’re basically going to be roommates again in less than a month.”

Kent seems pretty genuine. He’s perked back up, with his earlier swagger returning. Twisting the cap off the gatorade he takes a deep swig.

“That’s the good shit,” Kent says. “Florida is a fucked up place but it gave us gatorade so it can be forgiven for its sins.”

“This coming from Sin City’s biggest fan boy,” Jack mutters.

Kent finger guns at Jack. He walks off to the living room and Jack thinks they are okay. Jack sends the links to the places he likes the most to his mom before joining Kent to watch the season finale of Friday Night Lights. Swoops comes over for dinner and to say goodbye until next season since he’s heading off to Texas to see his family. Kent will see him shortly when he comes up to the beach house, but Swoops will be gone by the time Jack arrives.

Kent laughs and jokes with the two of them easily and naturally. It’s normal. They’re fine.

The next morning, he finds out exactly how not okay they are.

Kent’s in a rush to leave. Then he has a meltdown when he can’t find Kit (she’s in the laundry room). He misplaces his phone and then gets upset when Scraps calls Kent asking if he’s seen Scraps’ Stanley Cup hat. Kent snaps at him ‘I don’t know!’ before hanging up. Jack watches from a distance, holding Kit’s travel kennel (padded, comfortable). It’s not like Kent to get worked up like this. He’s usually incredibly laid back about travelling. It’s like he lost all his excitement about going to Florida.

They get to the airport and Kent tries to take off immediately. His flight takes off in three hours and Jack reasons, with Kent’s miles and fast check-in, they have plenty of time for breakfast with his mom. Her flight gets in ten minutes after their arrival from the airport but Kent is antsy and tries to snatch Kit from Jack’s hands.

“I need to check-in and get my bags checked. They always give me shit for Kit,” Kent says.

He makes a grab for Kit but Jack holds the kennel just out of reach. Sure, Kent had issues with Kit the first couple of times he flew but he’s figured out the system of taking pets on the plane. Kent’s Vegas royalty so a lot the airport personnel know how to handle him. _And_ Kit is an internet celebrity. He hasn’t had an issue taking her anywhere in years.

“Why are you lying to me?” Jack says.

“Goddamnit Jack, just give me my fucking cat and let me go,” Kent says.

“Does breakfast with my mother offend you that much?” Jack asks.

“No! I love your mom, but I just want to get out here alright?” Kent snaps.

He has a pained look on his face. Jack hates it. He wants to know whoever or whatever is hurting Kent so he can get rid of the problem. Jack wants nothing more than to make Kent happy. But being here in Vegas, or with Jack, or maybe both is affecting him negatively. It’s an easy decision to make – he has to let Kent go. He’ll see him in a few weeks.

“Will you at least say hi to her?” Jack says. “She’s been looking forward to seeing you for weeks.”

Kent sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll say hi.”

Jack hands Kent Kit’s kennel. He white knuckles the handle, jaw tight as he stares off into the distance. But he doesn’t run away,

Still, Jack’s at a loss as to what to do. He doesn’t know what has Kent all worked up. It’s possible he just woke up in a bad mood. Or there’s a deeper problem Kent is keeping a secret, which worries Jack deeply. He and Kent were doing so well at being open with each other. Talking to each other about the things that bothered them. Now Kent’s taken a huge step backwards and it’s hurting Jack.

They don’t wait too much longer in the tense silence before Jack’s mom arrives. She’s one of those extroverts who draws everyone in, pulling the most introverted people out of their shell. Alicia Zimmermann lights up every room she’s in. She shone more brightly than Jack’s father, which is one of the reasons he fell in love with her. Jack hopes she can help Kent’s mood.

“Oh _mon petit lapinou_!” she calls, throwing her arms around Jack.

They saw each other less than a week ago – after the Stanley Cup Final. She’s still thrilled to see him. Jack misses her a lot too.

“ _Comment_ _ç_ _a_ _va_?” she asks.

If Kent didn’t understand French or Jack was talking to his father, since they can both talk far more quickly than Kent can understand, he’dsay Kent was in a bad mood. Maybe ask for his mom’s help. Instead he can only tell her how he is, continuing to feel helpless over the situation.

“ _Bien. Et toi?”_

“Oh Jack, I’m just so proud of my boys,” she says.

She pulls away and smiles at him sweetly. Then she turns to Kent and pulls him into a tight hug. Thankfully, Kent reciprocates just as firmly.

“You avoided us after your big moment!” she chastises him. “I asked Jack why you didn’t come to dinner with us.”

Kent ducks his head. He doesn’t smile bashfully like he usually would. Instead he looks upset, rueful even. Jack hadn’t invited him. He chickened out last minute. Jack thought the entire event would lead him into confessing his feelings for Kent or his parents would see through him and assume they were already dating. Both scenarios would be equally devastating to their relationship.

“Sorry Mrs. Zimmermann,” Kent says. “I didn’t want to overstep. Anyways, I went out with Troy – Jeff – he’s one of my former teammates.”

Jack feels his face burn with shame. Kent is covering for him.

“Oh Kent, you don’t need to call me Mrs. Zimmermann anymore, you’re an adult. Call me Alicia. Or call me Mrs. Zimms, I always thought that was cute,” she says.

Kent swallows so hard Jack can see his Adam’s apple forcefully bobbing in his throat. His eyes are a steely grey – like a storm cloud.

“I should go,” Kent says. “Security always gives me trouble with my cat.”

He lifts the cage up uselessly. Jack’s not sure he’s ever seen Kent look so lost. The entire situation is uncomfortable and Jack feels terrible for asking Kent to stay.

“That’s too bad,” Jack’s mom says, frowning. “I would’ve liked to catch up. It’s been so long since we sat down and had a good conversation. Another time, Kenny. Remember you’re always welcome in our home.”

Kent looks panicked. Jack thinks back to when he told Kent he never wanted to see him again. It had been a few days into rehab and Jack finally felt like he was thinking clearly. The first thing that came to mind was he need to get rid of the toxic people in his life. Number one on that list was Kent. He was a crutch; Jack’s enabler. His parents loved Kent, but they loved their son and wanted him to get better, so they put Kent on the outside too. It must have hurt Kent terribly to have the people he thought loved him as their own, a second son, suddenly cut him out.

Jack doesn’t feel guilty for removing Kent from his life at that point. He needed it and his well-being took priority. He regrets how he did it. That he didn’t explain anything to Kent. That he refused to let his parents share anything. Those are the events that’ve left the deepest scars for Kent.

“Bye,” Kent mumbles.

He bolts. Not even a ‘see you in Florida, Zimms!’ Or a quick smile. Kent tucks his head down and takes off, hiding his face underneath the brim of his Aces Draft hat. It’s his favourite one. (Jack’s glad he didn’t take it that fateful day. It shows Kent’s pride at being First Overall. A well-deserved honour.)

“Oh honey,” his mother whispers watching Kent disappear into the crowd.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Jack says. “He’s been like this all morning.”

“He’s heartbroken,” she says.

Turning back to look at Jack, his mother’s eyes are sad. She’s frowning and shaking her head.

“What?”

“It’s written all over his face, someone broke his heart,” she explains.

“I just thought he was upset about something,” Jack says.

“Oh my sweet boy,” his mother says, giving him a small, sad smile. “I’ve broken a lot of hearts in my time, I know what heartbreak looks like. Kent is a classic case.”

Jack remembers the night before Game Six when the two of them had been so close. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss Kent – but couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wouldn’t be right before the big game. It could’ve screwed everything up. Then the brilliant idea came to his mind and he snapped away. Replaying the moment in his mind, Jack remembers a very important detail. He was so caught up in the heat of the moment, Jack didn’t notice when Kent pulled his hand away. Assuming Jack rejected him, Kent withdrew into himself.

Then when Jack brought up moving out – when they hadn’t talked about it– Kent must’ve assumed Jack was trying to get away from him. They’re so good on the ice together, Kent can read every movement Jack’s body telegraphs but he’s _really shit_ at picking up on Jack’s emotions sometimes.

“This is all my fault,” Jack murmurs.

A look of understanding dawns on his mother’s face. Jack will correct her later since she no doubt thinks he rejected Kent.

“Give him space,” his mother urges. “Just give him time to heal.”

Jack shakes his head. He wants to tell her she doesn’t understand. Running after Kent would be the dramatic, impulsive thing to do. It would be romantic – like what happened with Bitty. But things had been far less complicated. Running to Bitty was easy. Chasing after Kent would be a mistake. His mother is right, he’d probably just get angry with Jack. Besides, Kent is likely through security and fucking around with the TSA when Jack relies on flying around the country for his job would be a very bad idea.

  
“C’mon,” his mother says wrapping her arm around Jack’s. “I’m starving.”

 

XXXXX

 

**What a Season Eh?**

_(self.hockey)_

 

Zimmermann and Parson. Wow.

_submitted 4 hours ago by falcsjimbo99_

 

_(986 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] taterhead + _387_ 4 hours ago

What’s this? Are you becoming a reasonable fan?

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _891_ 4 hours ago

Consider my mind changed. Zimmermann is a damn fine player in my books like that straight through the legs in game three to Parson? What a beaut.

[-] crobeez + _102_ 2 hours ago

Unofficial upvote party for the biggest pain in this sub’s ass turning into a pretty cool dude. This is more surprising than Zimmermann winning the Cup with Aces. No one could’ve predicted this

 

[-] ovioviovi + _339_ 3 hours ago

To quote last season: H I S T O R I C (would’ve been awesome if the Caps won two Cups in a row though)

[-] schoonseattle33 + _425_ 2 hours ago

I think legendary is more appropriate

[-] bennynjets08 + _103_ 1 hour ago

...wait for it

[-] thirdythird + _91_ 30 minutes ago

is this a himym reference or about the jets?

[-] bennynjets08 + _23_ 10 minutes ago

Why not both? B)

 

[-] vegasgold + _313_ 4 hours ago

I’m still in absolute awe of that last goal. It was incredible. Parser and Zimmermann are something else on the ice, but I’m glad they didn’t completely blow the Aeros out of the park. It was stressful, but the Aeros leading for the majority of the series made the victory all the more sweeter and deserved.

Together?

[-] pva0407 + _11_ just now

Together.

 

[-] providence24 + _278_ 1 hour ago

Moretti’s had the Cup for less than a day and he’s already gotten into trouble. Where’s his babysitter when needs one.

[-] vegasgold + _105_ 20 minutes ago

Parser is off getting his well deserved vacation. Moretti is 24 years old, he can take care of himself for a few weeks.

 

XXXXX

 

The season ends as it began, Kent miserable in a beach house. Though his reputation has bounced back and he’s not nearly concerned about the asterisk next to his name in the record book nor how everyone compares how he stacks up to Jack, Kent’s an emotional wreck. (Being the other half of Parson-Zimmermann, _yeah Parson_ -Zimmermann, isn’t so bad when Kent has been a superstar on his own merit and own record to bring to the table.) The media has backed off, going back to normal levels of annoying. Instead it’s Kent’s own head, always twisting the world against him.

The beach house should be paradise. It’s a sprawling home, exorbitantly luxurious and it’s all Kent’s for nearly two months. He’ll be leaving every so often for some press stuff – but it’s a price he’s more than willing to pay as this year’s champion. It’s on a nicely isolated corner of beach front property. His neighbours are over a mile out in either direction with a bit of woods separating them. He’s pretty sure whoever is living in those houses don’t want to be disturbed either.

The perfect escape.

That’s just the thing. Kent doesn’t want escape. He’s so pissed off at himself for just running away from Jack. Foolishly, he thought he was done with running away. That Kent could just face feelings and say ‘Hey Jack it really fucking sucked when you rejected me. I didn’t mean for my feelings to resurface, but I still want to be friends. Please don’t leave just because I complicated things.’ _Again_.

So for the past nine days, Kent’s been brooding. Instead of enjoying his time alone, what he craved the entire season, all Kent wants is to be with other people. Mostly Jack, but having Troy, Scraps, and Swoops here would be pretty damn awesome. Anyone to get him out of his own damn head. Hell, Kent would settle for Carl, wherever the hell he is these days. Kit’s a fine substitute but she can’t talk. Her warmth on his stomach only helps so much.

Swoops will be arriving in a little bit over a week expecting some sort of shenanigans. They’ll probably tear up the small club the nearby beach town has. Maybe almost crash a boat. Regular NHLer stuff. Kent’s looking forward to having Swoops here. However, by then he needs to get out his funk. Cheer up or Swoops will call him out and get overly concerned. Troy will be called. Scraps will get involved and then they’ll try to get Jack and Kent will be forced to tell them his mood is because of Jack. Which will wind up with the three of them getting angry at Jack on Kent’s behalf even though it’s not Jack’s fault Kent can’t get his shit together.

Worst of all: shenanigans will be cancelled.

So Kent goes for a swim. The crisp water, warm ocean air, and sun usually help. It does wonders for his hair and brings out the dusting of freckles on his cheeks. It does not affect his mood. He trudges back into the house, dripping water all over the floors because he just doesn’t fucking care.

“Okay Parson,” he says to himself aloud.

He’s alone in the house. No one is here to hear him make a fool of himself. He can talk to himself without shame. He’ll just talk himself out of his feelings for Jack. It sort of worked before, but there was a therapist involved. How hard could it be? Kent did it once and had a pretty solid chunk of time where he was Officially Over Jack.

“You’re totally over Jack Zimmermann.”

Except to get over Jack, Kent went a significant period without seeing him. And Jack is coming out to the beach house in like three weeks. So Kent just needs to distill what he needs to get over Jack into a neat little container. Then viola! In three weeks he can say ‘Hey Zimms, let’s hit the beach!’ Because they’re totally friends and only ever friends. And friends hit the beach. 

“Fuck,” Kent says.

He rubs his hands vigorously over his eyes. Getting a little overzealous, he gets sand and salt in them.

“Why does the universe love punishing me?” he shouts as he blindly gropes around for a towel.

“Here.”

Kent leaps backwards. He hits a chair and tumbles to the ground. His eyes are burning now and he can only open them to see a dark blob. Every part of his body is screaming out as Kent managed to stab himself with the chair legs. Not to mention he’s supposed to be completely alone. Secluded. Who the hell is in his beach house?

“Fuck I thought pain in one place was supposed to distract you from the other pain,” Kent growls.

“Shit, Kenny I didn’t mean to scare you,” Jack says.

He sounds like he’s laughing. The bastard.

“Give me my towel,” Kent snaps.

He’s not in the mood for this. What are the chances Jack heard him? Would he think Kent’s pathetic? Is there a piece of him that might understand?

Kent grabs the towel from Jack, feeling it brush against his skin. He dries his face and manages to rub the salt and sand out of his eyes. It still hurts like hell to open them, but Jack comes into focus. He looks like complete shit. His hair is a mess, he clearly hasn’t shaven in awhile, and his clothes are rumpled. Kent makes sure to tell him because he’s pissed off and feeling petty.

“I had an unnecessary layover in New York,” Jack explains. “I was there for eight hours. Then I was stuck in a car for three hours because you literally chose the most isolated beach house in Florida.”

He sticks out his hand for Kent. Taking it, Kent notices Jack checking him over for injuries. He just fell into a chair, nothing’s broken. Jack’s concern causes Kent’s chest to warm. He gets more snippy with Jack to counteract the feeling.

“That’s the idea,” Kent says. “Makes it harder for the media to hunt me down and bother me.”

Jack hums in agreement. He drops Kent’s hand and rights the chair. Making his way to the sink, Kent lets Jack sort himself out. There can be a little bit awkwardness for barging in on Kent’s alone time. He’s not even going to ask why Jack is here, to be extra mean. Just let Jack stand and suffer in the middle of Kent’s beach house.

He washes his face, clearing it of any excess salt and sand. Blinking a few times, the small bits clear from his vision. Soon he can see completely again. Selecting a fresh tea towel, Kent pats his face dry before turning to Jack. Who is, predictably, standing right where Kent left him. He looks sheepish. Apologetic even.

“You’re really going to make me start?” Kent sighs.

“I do want to talk and it’s important,” Jack says. “But I’m really tired. Is there anyway we could hit pause and I could take a nap?”

“Wow, that’s pretty ballsy of you,” Kent says.

“Ballsy is a heterosexist term,” Jack says.

“What?” Kent asks.

“Nothing, just something Shitty talks about a lot,” Jack says quickly.

Kent rolls his eyes and waves his hand indicating that Jack should follow him. They weave through the massive beach house, which Kent hasn’t even explored fully. He was saving that for Shenanigans with Swoops. Will Jack being here ruin that?

They arrive at one of the guest rooms and Kent wordlessly offers it to Jack. Nodding, Jack enters the room and drops onto the bed. His eyes flutter shut and his breath evens out almost immediately. Kent shuts the door and flees from this wing of the house.

How is he supposed to get over Jack when Jack showed up unannounced?

With Jack asleep in the guest room, Kent can more or less go on with his day. Not that he had anything planned. He changes out of his swimsuit, grabs a book, and spends a good chunk of the afternoon reading out on the back deck. It serves as a good distraction when he gets more involved in the book’s story than he meant. Damn Troy for trying to make him increase his education. Kent hasn’t picked up a book in years. But reading is fun. Who knew? Maybe Kent just spent too much hating it because it cut into his ice time.

The sun is starting sink low in the sky when Kent decides to head in for dinner. He skipped lunch due to the arrival of Jack and now he’s  _starving_. Even outside of the season, Kent’s metabolism is working at light speed. By August it will slow down but by that time training camp and practice will have started. The food budget is never going to be normal.

Back in the house, Kent begins to throw together a basic pasta and sauce. He ran out of spaghetti noodles three days ago but there’s really no difference.The meal is basic but tasty. At the last minute, he decides to double the amount for Jack.

He has gotten use to having a roommate who can at least make something beyond soup and sandwiches(Jack can’t cook either, but his repertoire is immense compare to Kent’s). But Kent can’t just eat take-out every night for the entire off-season. So pasta and soup and sandwiches. The occasional frozen dish he can throw in the oven if he’s feeling fancy. He can grill too, so he’s got some variety.

“I’m starving,” Jack says.

Kent glares at him.

“You need to announce your presence, Zimms,” Kent says. “I’ve been alone for like two weeks.”

“Sorry,” Jack says.

He pulls a seat out at the bar and peers down at Kent’s cooking.

“I’m making spaghetti,” Kent informs him.

“That’s not spaghetti,” Jack says.

“Of course it is. I got pasta, I got sauce,” Kent says. “That’s, like, by definition spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti requires you use spaghetti noodles. That’s bowtie pasta,” Jack says.

He’s smirking at Kent, teasing him. Kent isn’t really feeling the teasing right now.

“Look you don’t have to eat it,” Kent says sourly.

“I’d eat that monstrosity you made when we were 17 and your billet family was out of town,” Jack says.

Kent stares down at his sauce, stirring it furiously so it doesn’t boil over. Now that had been a cooking disaster. Jack had arrived, taking a look at the destroyed kitchen and promptly began laughing. ‘Look here, I didn’t get a lot of home cooked meals growing up,’ Kent had snapped. Jack’s laughter petered out and he smiled at Kent. They cleaned up the kitchen, burnt the evidence of the Kent’s cooking attempt, and ordered pizza instead. It’s one of Kent’s favourite memories.

Suddenly he’s pissed off at Jack for bringing it up. For ruining it for Kent. That Jack has the _gall_ to be here.

“How dare you,” Kent hisses.

He throws down the spoon onto the countertop and glares at Jack, who stares at him with those wide, innocent eyes. But as immediately as the anger rose up, it fizzles away. Kent’s just so tired. Worn out from the season, worn out about worrying about Jack everyday of his vacation. He just wants things to go back to the way the were. If ‘the way they were’ means no Jack, then so be it. Kent has more than proven he can function without Jack Zimmermann in his life.

“Why are you here, Jack?” Kent sighs. “I thought you would be in Montreal.”

“I was,” Jack says. “But something felt wrong.”

“Oh? Something in your perfect life was wrong so you came to ruin my shitty one?” Kent snaps.

“That’s not fair,” Jack says. “At all.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kent mutters.

He runs his hands through his hair and steps away from the stove. It’s making him sweat. Leaning back against the counter, Kent crosses his arms across his chest.

“No,” Kent agrees, speaking slowly. “It’s not fair. But it’s hard to see it any other way. Since I was perfectly fine without you and then you came back and ruined everything.”

“You’re not talking about just today,” Jack says.

Kent gives him a ‘no shit’ look. Jack brings his hands up to his forehead and rubs the skin there before dragging his hands to his temples. He looks at Kent, trying to figure out god only knows what. Kent thought he knew what goes on in Jack’s head, but ever since the night on the balcony, he just feels like Jack will remain a locked box for the rest of Kent’s life.

“I didn’t know you felt that strongly,” Jack continues.

He looks hurt. Upset. Kent viciously thinks Jack should be. Some payback for everything he’s put Kent through. Then he feels terrible. That’s an awful thing to wish upon Jack. Kent cares about him deeply. Far deeper than he did before. The feelings have definitely matured alongside Kent. If he has to let Jack go – it will hurt like hell – but Kent can get through it.

“Fuck Jack!” Kent snaps. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I don’t want that either,” Jack says.

He stands up and makes his way around the island so he’s standing perpendicular to Kent. Tilting his body to face him, Kent meets Jack’s gaze uncertainly. Reaching out, Jack very gently takes Kent’s arms, unwinding them from Kent’s body. He’s physically trying to open Kent up. Kent lets him, his arms dropping limply to his side. Jack’s hands slide down to his wrists and hang there, loosely wrapped. If Kent want to leave, he wouldn’t have very much trouble. Jack isn’t holding him back.

“But you have to tell me what’s wrong,” Jack presses. “We said we’d talk about things and yet you left Vegas upset. Kenny, I couldn’t be in Montreal because I knew you were upset. Upset with me. I had to make it right – know exactly what I did wrong.”

He’s speaking so softly, like he might spook Kent. Embarrassed, Kent looks away but Jack catches his face with one of his hands. He turns Kent back to look at him.

“Kent, look at me,” Jack requests.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Kent knows he’s going to cry. Jack’s right there – wanting to know what he did wrong. Wanting to fix it. But Jack is never going to give Kent what he wants. He can’t. Kent has always wanted more than Jack is willing to give.

“I’m mad at myself,” Kent confesses.

“Why? You’re amazing,” Jack says.

Kent’s eyes snap open. He stares at Jack, looking for some sort of reason behind what he said. A thumb brushes Kent’s cheek, wiping away a tear.

“Don’t – don’t say that,” Kent says.

“Why?”

“Because I’m in love with you,” Kent blurts. “I’m fucking this all up and I have feelings for you all over again. It pisses me off I keep coming to this place because you’re never going to feel the same way about me. I want to be friends with you Jack, but I can’t do this if I’m going to keep hurting myself.”

Jack looks stung. He doesn’t move. His hand freezes on Kent’s cheek. Then he starts laughing. He pulls away and drops his hands to his side as he continues to laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Kent shouts.

“No I’m not laughing at you!” Jack recovers quickly. “I’ve been really stupid, Kent.”

“I’m confused.”

“Yeah you would be. All this time I’ve been thinking you’re not talking to me but I haven’t been saying anything either,” Jack says.

“I mean your body language hasn’t exactly been subtle,” Kent cuts in. “You might as well have been screaming. The balcony remember? I was going to kiss you and instead you pulled away and started going on about hockey. I know you turn to hockey to avoid situations.”

“It really came to me in that exact moment,” Jack says defensively.“Besides the timing wasn’t right.”

“What does that even mean?” Kent demands.

“If you’d stop talking and let me talk, I’ll tell you,” Jack says. “Just listen to me, Kent. Okay?”

“Fine.”

“We couldn’t have started a relationship if I lived with you,” Jack says. “It would’ve been a disaster. If we’re going to do this right, then we both need our own spaces. I can’t be living in your guest room. I should’ve told you beforehand. But we couldn’t be together then.”

“And now?”

“Kenny, I know I wasn’t emotionally available when we were young. There was a lot of stuff going on in my head then and I know I hurt you because of it,” Jack confesses. “But this past year, getting to know you again, seeing your life in Vegas, seeing you with your team – I – damnit.”

“Say it,” Kent says.

He has to hear Jack say it. The blood is rushing in his ears and his heart is thrumming in his chest. Jack’s face says it all but Kent has to hear him say. The words need to be real.

“I have feelings for you, like big ones. I’ve known for some time and I knew you felt the same, but I –” Jack pauses. “When I looked at you under the Cup. You looked so carefree and happy and your pride in the team just shone through you. I realized just how deep I was. It took everything I had to not kiss you right then and there. But I’ve done it once, and it was awesome but -”

“Thank you,” Kent says. “Thanks for not putting me through that. And beside, that’s yours and Bittle’s story. It’s a pretty great one. We need our own.”

Jack nods. He smiles warmly at Kent.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Jack says.

“Please,” Kent croaks out.

He’s smiling and his throat is dry. This is _a lot_ right now. But a really good A Lot. The emotions swelling uncontrollably inside him finally feel good now that they are reciprocated. Kent’ cheeks hurt. Shuffling forward, Jack moves back in. Wrapping a hand around his neck, Jack leans in and presses their lips together. Kent closes his eyes.

There’s fireworks. It’s better than before. He can feel Jack smiling against him. Kent brings his hands to Jack’s sides just to give them some place to be. Slowly they part and Jack is grinning at him. Kent leans forward and knocks their foreheads together.

“Wow,” Jack breathes.

“Wow indeed,” Kent agrees. “Can I kiss you again?”

Jack laughs. His free hand pulls one of Kent’s from his waist and twists their hands together. Jack’s romantic nature has been known to Kent – but he’s never seen it action.

“Yeah.”

This kiss is less tender than before, a bit more desperation as Kent seeks to get as close to Jack as possible. Jack pushes back, adding some more force to it. He curls his hand around Kent’s ear, brushing his fingers against his hair. Kent can’t help but laugh a little – he’s ticklish right there. Jack laughs into the kiss. Of course he knows. The bastard.

“Hey Parser – Oh shit!”

There’s a massive metallic crash and Kent pulls away from Jack immediately to stare at Swoops. The Stanley Cup is sitting at his feet, thankfully all intact after being dropped. If Swoops’ dented it, _he’s_ paying for it. The Keeper is likely somewhere nearby too, so they’ll know all the marks that were there before.

“Is it everyone surprise Kent at his purposefully isolated beach house day?” Kent asks. “What the fuck are you doing here, Swoops?”

Swoops stammers. Face red and at loss for words. His eyes go front Kent to Jack to Kent again.

“Troy said – he said,” Swoops says over again.

“Troy said you sounded sad on the phone yesterday so we decided to fly up here,” Troy says stepping into the beach house. “For fuck’s sake Swoops, you dropped it?”

Swoops shakes his head dramatically. He points at Jack and Kent. Rolling his eyes, Kent sighs. Jack is laughing to himself silently, shoulders shaking as he tries to keep it in. He’s loving this. Of course he is. Kent is hot and bothered; Swoops, who is basically Kent’s surrogate son, has done the equivalent of walking in on his parents; Troy is here which means Kent is going to get The Talk.

Lifting up his sunglasses, Troy doesn’t immediately look at Kent or Jack. He kneels down and examines the Cup. Once he’s done, he nods and stands up to greet Kent. Swoops has managed to close his mouth, but is still unable to speak.

“Hey Parser. Hey Jack, thought you’d be in Montreal,” Troy says.

Troy narrows his eyes. He looks at Kent. Then at Jack. Kent looks at Jack in his peripheral. His hair is all messed up – in Kent’s defense Jack did just take a nap and have a trip from hell to get here. However, the red lips don’t come from either. Certainly Kent himself is a dead give away.

“Huh,” Troy says.

“That’s it?” Kent demands. “Huh?”

“I suspected,” Troy says.

“Nothing was happening before,” Kent continues. “This is like five minutes ago new. Not even.”

“Oh,” Troy says. “Well then, my apologies for the assumption and congrats.”

He turns to Swoops and tells him to put the Cup on the table before the Keeper gets in and demands to know what happened. Swoops does so mechanically. His face is less red, but his eyes are still wide.

“I thought I’d get a little more than that,” Kent says.

“Oh you’re such a drama queen,” Troy says. “I already gave Jack the shakedown when he was living in my basement. He can fill in some blanks and extrapolate now that you’re boning.”

Looking at Jack, he nods in agreement confirming Troy’s story.

“And Swoops?” Kent asks.

“You just caught me off guard,” Swoops says, finally untangling his tongue. “I’m so happy for you, Cap. I know how much Jack means to you.”

Kent smiles. Swoops charges across the room and envelopes Kent in a bear hug.

“Thanks buddy,” Kent says. “You already text Scraps?”

“Oh absolutely,” Swoops says.

“Kent,” Jack says.

He sounds muffled with Swoops massive arms surrounding Kent.

“Not now, Zimms, we’re having a bro-ment,” Kent says.

“Ignoring your terrible use of frat talk, your sauce is burning,” Jack says.

Leaping from Swoops’ arms, Kent turns back to the stove. The sauce is smoking and crusted to the side of the pan. The noodles have long boiled over and spilled all over the counter. Frantically, Kent starts pulling the pots from the elements and turning off the stove. There goes dinner. Jack finally lets go and starts laughing loudly.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Kent mutters. “Damn you, Zimms for distracting me.”

“You love it,” Jack shoots back.

Kent pauses and looks at Jack. He feels all soft and gooey.

“Yeah I do,” Kent agrees.

“Oh god,” Troy groans. “This is nauseating and I’m not just talking about Parser’s piss poor attempt at cooking. I’ll be on the deck ordering some pizza.”

Swoops follows after him, leaving Jack and Kent alone.

“You have good friends,” Jack says.

“They’re the best,” Kent agrees. “Mildly annoying, but they’re basically family. I know you get that.”

“Absolutely, even when I want to throttle Shitty,” Jack says.

The Keeper of the Cup finally enters the house. He’s tapping away on his cell, hardly interested in any of the life altering events events that just occurred. With his shades still on, his face looks disgusted as he smells the air.

“You better not have burned anything inside the Cup while I was making a call,” he warns.

“It’s fine, just ruined my own dinner,” Kent says.

The Keeper looks at the Cup and sniffs. But nods and carries on with his phone.

“Well there goes my plans for the offseason,” Kent says.

“Want to come Montreal for the second half? My parents are dying to see you,” Jack says.

 _Montreal_. Home to Kent’s fondest memories. Though they have become a bit tainted over the years because of everything that has happened. The Draft took place in Montreal, after all. But that was before and this is now. Kent could use some new favourite memories.

“I’d love to.”

 

XXXXX

 

**One Year Later: Aces After the Storm**

Lukas Wilkes @luke_wlks

 

 **VEGAS–** Aces Captain Kent Parson gets the last word at the end of today’s first official practice. Head Coach Ryan Keller takes a backseat, nodding approvingly as Kent tells his team, still high off their Stanley Cup win, that now’s not the time to take it easy. The other teams will be gunning for them, looking for vengeance or to simply take them down a peg. “[They’ll] need to work harder and push more than before, but [Parson] knows everyone has what it takes to have another amazing season.” It’s clear why he won the Messier last season.

They all cheer and take off the ice, serious demeanours breaking as they all start to laugh and push each other around. The camaraderie of any sports team, even elite, is strong.

Parson hangs behind on the ice. The coaching staff walk off, heads low as they intensely discuss lineups and plays to test in the preseason. He skates over to Jack Zimmermann, who also lingers on the ice. They share a private moment as Parson taps his skate against Zimmermann’s. It’s an interesting dichotomy to see intense players share a moment of quiet, considering the last time we saw them on the ice – the two were yelling in each other’s faces for various reasons.

The two are the talk of the hockey world as Zimmermann heads into his first full season with Aces. Analysts are predicting the unstoppable duo can only get better with time as they play with each and continue to work Aaron Connelly, an almost for the Calder and hot off his fantastic rookie season, into their lineup. For many years, hockey fans lamented the loss of what could’ve been with Zimmermann and Parson, yet here we are 10 years after the draft and they’re together again. What they needed was time apart and to prove themselves as individuals. Coming together as two stars made the whole greater than the sum of its parts.

Afterwards, Parson sits down down me for a talk about the hurdles of last season and looking to the future of the 2019-20 season. He’s relaxed and easy to talk to, cracking jokes with teammates who pass by. It’s a privilege to witness such a bond shared between these men. [The full interview transcript and video can be found here]

The Aces had a rough end to the 2017-18 season when it was revealed that many members of their Front Office were deeply embroiled in gambling debts and bribery. Much of the staff had to be fired and rehired in a relatively short period time. Contracts were at risk, the franchise in its entirety was in peril. The organization had been stripped bare and was vulnerable to attack. The season started and the team was shaken. Many of those who had been fired were trusted members of the Front Office, having direct relationships with players. New General Manager Wayne Schroeder credits Parson and his assistant GM, Mica Wolf, with holding the ship together. Without them, they would’ve sunk.

Fans fled, attendance was at a record low, publicity was bad, and every sports writer in the city was hounding every member of the Aces for answers. “The truth was, we didn’t have any,” Parson says. “We had all been lied to and tricked. We were hurting and those who betrayed us had nothing to say in their defense.”

Parson’s image may have been hit the hardest by the scandal, as the star of the team. Sports historians credit the Aces’ choice of Parson as First Overall in the 2009 Draft as a turning point in the organization. Former GM Mark Hopkins was particularly fond of Parson and many noted that his obsession with the left winger gave many with a bad feeling. The movement #kentknew on Twitter was notable from weeks after the scandal, accusing Parson of being directly involved. However, the proof was there in the numbers and support from members of the organization was numerous. Parson was as innocent as they come.He was booed and scorned for much of the beginning months of the season. Things only seemed to turn around when Zimmermann joined the team and people remembered how awesome Parson was at the game we all love.

With Zimmermann on board, the hole left in the team was filled. The Aces were on fire and went on historic winning streaks. For almost the entirety of December, the Aces won and fans flocked back to the team. But nothing can last forever. Parson took a bad hit, dislocated his shoulder and was out for eight weeks – the rest of December, all the January, and almost the entirety of February. In that time, it was predicted the Aces would crumble. Yet they didn’t, the team was as strong as ever.

“It made me proud as hell,” Parson said. “Of course I wanted to be out there with them, but I know my team can play a strong game. With or without me.”

With Parson back in the lineup, the Aces sat on the precipice of a playoffs spot. And by March, they clinched a playoff berth. It was fantastic. A team that thought its narrative for the season had been written – that their season was over in July 2017 – was going to the playoffs. The run they had was legendary and lead them all the way to Game Six in the Stanley Cup Finals where they took it all. Parson and Zimmermann lifted the Cup together in the iconic ‘Together?’ ‘Together.’ moment. It was beautiful. Millions cried.

Here they are, start of the new season and one year later. Parson and Zimmermann rest together in the locker room while the chaos reigns around them. They’re at peace here even though earlier on the ice Zimmermann called Parson out for missing an easy shot or when Parson checked Zimmermann into the boards during a scrimmage. It’s a rare moment of peace for the two before the season kicks off. I can’t say before the real work begins, since, in reality, these men have been hard at work for several weeks already.

Who knows what this season will bring for the Las Vegas Aces. They certainly proved themselves last season. The real truth is this team can weather any storm as long as Kent Parson is at the helm.

 

XXXXX

 

Kent loves home games. Playing for an arena filled to the brim almost entirely with Vegas fans. People cheering and screaming, wearing a jersey with his name on it. Ten years later, the feeling of awe never fades. Everyone there to see him play. When Kent was a kid, he could barely get his own parents to stick around for a game. They came up for a handful when he was in the Q. They didn’t care much for sports and felt like Kent was wasting histime. They thought the lack of support would force Kent out ofthe sport. It just pushed him harder.

Now here he is in the NHL, playing the game he loves multiple times a week for thousands of people in person, and thousands more around the country. It’s a fantastic feeling to know he has made it this far. The chances – well Kent doesn’t like to think about when his father drove him up to Montreal the first time, citing Kent’s statistical chance of getting into the NHL. Yet Kent is here, despite all the odds. It was a lot of hard work and dedication and maybe a bit of luck, since Kent wouldn’t be nearly as good as he is if it weren’t for Jack.

Stepping out on the ice, before anyone else, is Kent’s favourite game day tradition. The doors aren’t open yet and both teams aren’t yetcompletely ready. Most of them shooting shit in the locker room and blasting music to get into the right head space. Kent likes the quiet of the ice, listening to his blades cut the surface.

He takes slow laps around the edge of the rink. Lazily drifting around, just admiring the arena. It’s massive and dead silent. The _skrtch_ of his blades against the ice filling the entire building. Kent loves skating, loves being without his helmet and letting the cool air blow through his hair. Sometimes he needs to get out there faster, only lacing up his skates before jumping on the ice. Other times he’s more relaxed, he takes the time to fully suit up before hitting the ice. It’s his dumb little tradition, being out there alone. Just a little paid respect to the rink before he’s cutting into it trying to get across the ice as fast as possible.

There’s always some sort of audience though. None of the arena workers stare at him, maybe they offer a glance, but they’re too busy working. And they know Kent’s routine. A new employee will occasionally stop to watch. Kent will wave and they’ll get starstruck before burying their head back into their work. It doesn’t change that they’re there.

It’s a fact he’s lamented more than a few times over the past years. Just skating around the rink, messing around, with no one to take pictures and no coach to yell at him for not being careful. Between practice, morning skates, and games – Kent doesn’t really skate for fun that often. The quiet moments before the arena doors open are all he gets. He sort of misses it. Back in the Q, he and a few other players would convince security to let them into the rink at night. They’d play around just for fun with no one to judge them or call them out on poor form.

He’s more than a little eager when Jack informs Kent he’s booked one of the rinks at the training facility for a private skate. No press, no fans. Just the two of them, one-on-one. It’s not that Kent doesn’t love those things, it’s just he rarely gets a moment to enjoy hockey for himself. He loves playing for his fans and his team, but it’s easy to forget why he really loves the sport between gruelling practices and impossibly long game days.

Jack asks Kent to meet him there, telling him to only bring his skates.There’s enough sticks at the centre to arm a small hockey playing army.

They have a few days to themselves in mid-November. There’s a practice bookending either side of the almost week off, but other than that Kent’s free to do whatever he wants. No commitments to the team, the media, or the fans. Just to himself. And Jack.

Arriving at the training centre, there’s a few cars in the parking lot. There’s likely a kid’s hockey event going on. There’s several rinks inside the facility so events can occur simultaneously. Kids get really excited about getting to skate on ice NHL players practice on. Occasionally after a practice, the other players will lead a small contingent to see the kids. Kent usually tags along because he knows he’s one of the favourites. As the face of the franchise, he’s one of the first players kids learn to recognize.He’s not always comfortable with kids – some of his teammates are amazing. But it doesn’t matter much, as long as he’s there and receptive to pictures, signing, and the occasional flourish on skates.

He easily slips inside without being noticed. The people working the front don’t check his pass, just smile and let him on through. Pulling out his phone, Kent checks out which rink Jack booked before heading over to the associated locker room. There’s the official NHL locker room, which has their names on the stalls and practice jerseys (washed and maintained by the staff here). Then there’s the rooms for the public which remind Kent of small hometown rinks. A room with rubber mat floors and benches lining the walls. He chooses the public locker room.

It makes him feel like a kid again while he laces up his skates. Back in the mites, these rooms were always chaotic. Arms too short to tie their own laces, hockey parents were always around making sure everyone’s skates were tied on properly and helmets were secure. The hockey dads always seemed way too enthusiastic, shoving the skates straight onto kids’ feet. Kent relished in it. The way hockey dads felt about the game was infectious.

Following the rubber mats, Kent makes his way to the rink. There’s music playing, which makes him smile even more. He hurries up to meet Jack out on the ice. It’s really like the community skates back at the local rink. Kent grew up a block away from one, his dad taught him to skate there. When he got old enough, he would walk over every Saturday for the free morning skate. One of the days he was with his dad, a local coach asked if Kent wanted to join the mites team.

His parents were more than happy to sign him up for an extracurricular activity. Up until bantam, when Kent’s skill really emerged and his potential for juniors was scouted, his parents were pretty happy. They didn’t like the idea of Kent attempting to make a career of something with such slim possibilities of success.Focusing too much on a single sport would cause stress injuries. But Kent was good and loved the sport so his parents’ shipped him off to Connecticut with grandmother, where his burgeoning junior career would be less of a stressor.

Arriving at the rink, Kent sees Jack leaning against the boards, playing on his phone. Kent jumps on the ice, picking up speed. He stops hard right in front of Jack. A bit of ice sprays onto Jack’s pants.

“Hey,” Kent greets giving him a shit-eat grin.

“You’re going to pay for that,” Jack warns.

“You have to catch me first!” Kent calls.

He kicks off and takes off down the side of the boards. Behind him, he can hear Jack putting his phone down and pushing off the boards. They play cat and mouse for a short while. Kent’s quicker and has more manoeuvrability – able to make snap direction changes. Turning on a dime is his speciality.Jack’s fast but his momentum keeps going because of his size. He has to make harder stops before pushing into the new direction. Having Jack hurtling at him full speed is intimidating though, making Kent’s heart pound a bit faster in his chest. Kent laughs, teasing Jack who in turn calls him a slippery bastard.

After a particularly sharp turn, he turns around, skating backwards and watching as Jack picks up speed to reach him. When Jack starts to get close, Kent tries to make another quick turn to put some distance between them. Unfortunately something happens. Maybe there’s a hole in the ice or his edge is too deep. But Kent’s skate gets caught making the turn. Unable to recover quickly enough, Kent takes a hard fall onto his stomach. It knocks the wind of him and he screws his eyes shut from the blow.

“Kent!” Jack shouts.

In a flash, Jack is kneeling by his side, hands worriedly floating over his body. Kent rolls over, wincing. It’s hard to breath and his chest hurts like hell.

“Did you hit your head?” Jack asks. “We’ll have to get you checked out and tell Keller and –”

“Fuck, Zimms,” Kent groans. “I didn’t fucking hit my head.”

Jack sighs in relief. Kent is annoyed Jack immediately jumped to thoughts of a concussion, but it makes sense in their line of business. Getting a concussion is dangerous not only because Kent will be out of commission for a chunk of the season, but also forKent’s overall health. Head injuries are no joke and range from incredibly minor to severe all from the same amount of impact.

“Hell of a fall there,” Jack says. “Are you okay?”

“Going bruise like a damn peach,” Kent says.

He rubs just below his clavicles and tries to take deep breaths. It burns. Jack reaches out, placing a steadying hand on his back and helping him sit more upright and lean forward. The other grabs one of Kent’s hands, squeezing it tightly for support. It grounds Kent. His legs are shaking from the fall and he’s having trouble keeping his body steady.

“Just breathe,” Jack murmurs.

Slowly the pain eases and Kent can breath again. He hasn’t had a hard fall like that in sometime. In the game, he ends up on the ice more often than he’d like but he’s got padding. Crashing straight into the ice is terrifying. He thinks figure skaters are brilliant for the way they look so effortless in their recovery from a bad jump.

“Everything good now?” Jack asks.

Kent nods.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Good, now I won’t feel bad about this.”

Jack grabs some snow from the ice and shoves it down the back of Kent’s shirt. Letting out of string of curses, Kent pushes at Jack who only laughs

  
“Sorry but I told you’d pay,” Jack says. “And I caught you, so it’s only fair.”

“Only because I fell,” Kent says.

Jack leans down and kisses him. When he pulls away, he smiles at Kent. He grabs Kent’s cap, which fell off during the fall and put it back, tugging at the brim behind Kent’s head to secure it.

“Don’t complain just because you lost,” Jack says.

Kent kisses him again so he doesn’t have to look at the smug look on Jack’s face. Afterwards, Jack helps him to his feet and the two of them take off in sync for some easy laps around the ice. It’s not Rockefeller Plaza or a busy community rink, so it lacks the true feeling of a Saturday morning free skate, but Kent loves it regardless. The two of them just skirting around the edges of rink, shoulders bumping as they move. Jack looks at peace too. It’s really the perfect picture.

“So what’s the occasion?” Kent asks.

“I was thinking we didn’t do anything for your birthday,” Jack says.

“Swoops bought fireworks and we set them off on the beach,” Kent says.

“Yeah but I missed it,” Jack points out. “You were alone and upset and I was in Montreal.”

“I like spending my birthday alone. I usually have a belated one anyway,” Kent says. “It sucks sharing a birthday with America. I want to have my own party.”

“Regardless, you were at my birthday in August and I didn’t really feel like it was fair,” Jack says.

“So you decided that nearly four months later was a good time?”

“Better late than never,” Jack says sheepishly. “Happy Birthday, Kenny.”

“Do I get a present?” Kent asks.

“Don’t be a brat.”

Kent grins at Jack. He leans in and kisses Jack. Over the past couple of years, Kent has got pretty good at waiting for things. ‘Better late than never’ is basically his motto for life these days. A super belated birthday is nothing off Kent’s back. It’s even better this way.

“Thanks, Zimms,” he mumbles into the kiss.

“I was thinking about something else too,” Jack says.

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me,” Kent says.

He speeds up to skate in front of Jack, turning to face him. There’s less speed to his turn and more apprehension as Kent checks the ice for any missing chunks. One fall is fine. A second would probably ruin the rest of the entire day. And Kent kind of wants the whole day to be part of his favourite memories. Not just the first little bit.

“I was looking through that box from Troy’s. You know the one that says _va au diable, esti_?”

Kent laughs. He does remember that box.

“My ‘I Hate Jack Zimmermann Box,’” Kent fills in. “What about?”

Jack makes a face. Kent makes one right back.He knows about Jack’s, significantly smaller but still very real, box full of photos he took in the Q. They were over-emotional teenage boys. Kent had been alone, a whole world away from what he knew and was devastated over the loss of his best friend. So he took everything that reminded him of Jack and shoved it into a box. Then he put the box in a closet and shot hockey pucks at the wall until Troy yelled at him.

“Other than you should hang your jersey up, which I know you’ve been saying you should do for months, all the photos were making me think,” Jack says. “We had a lot of great times in Q.”

“We sure did,” Kent agrees. “What’s your point? We need more teenage shenanigans? Because listen Zimms, all you need is to hang out with the rookies and you’ll get your fill.”

“No. One: I lived in a frat house, I had four years of too many of shenanigans. Two: my point is we haven’t been on any dates.”

Kent stops dead in his tracks. That can’t be right. He and Jack were inseparable in the Q – they did everything together. Alright, they weren’t technically dating or even _togethe_ r. And there was always at least one other teammate around when they went out. So maybe they didn’t go on any dates. Since getting together in July they haven’t done anything official either. A lot of hanging out and taking it easy. Then the season started and well. That’s easy enough to figure out.

“I guess you’re right.”

Jack has stopped too. His skates bump against Kent’s as he stands in place.

“What do normal people do on dates? My previous relationships have generally not beenthe dating kind. Troyhasbeen my role model,”Kent says and then he comes to a realization. “Oh my god, that makes you the relationship expert here. That’s a horrific thought.”

Jack rolls his eyes.

“Kent,” Jack says.

“Sorry,” he says automatically.

“Do you want to go dinner with me?” Jack asks.

“I guess I can fit you into my schedule,” Kent teases.

He pretends to check his nails like he’s a diva. Jack laughs and suddenly his head is against Kent’s stomach as he pushes Kent down the ice. Kent’s back hits the boards lightly and Jack stands up to stare at him. Pressing their foreheads together, Jack pins Kent into place.

“So is that a yes?” Jack asks.

“Of course it’s a yes,” Kent says.

Jack kisses him.

“Good because I have reservations for tonight,” Jack says.

“What would you do if I had mad eplans?”

“To play Xbox with Swoops? And lose?”

“It’s important for a veteran to stay connected to his rookie,” Kent points out.

Jack shakes his head. He leans in and kisses Kent.

“I love you.”

Kent grins. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Jack saying that. Sure it’s early in their relationship, but he’s always going to remember the little bit of pleasure that runs through him when Jack says it. It’s the way Jack says it. Intense and focused, putting every little bit of himself into it. Just like how he plays hockey. It makes Kent giddy knowing he gets to be part of both.

“I love you too,” Kent replies.

“Just had to make sure before I beat you at one-on-one,” Jack says.

He pulls away and skates back over to the boards where he was standing when Kent first arrived. Leaning over, he pulls out two hockey sticks. When Kent gets close enough, Jack tosses one over. Catching it a fluid motion, Kent immediately holds it out in front of him and looks down the stick longitudinally, checking the curve of the blade.

“You look ridiculous,” Jack says as he tosses the stick between his hands.

Everyone has their own way of getting a feel for a stick. Kent likes to make sure his is straight.

“So you think you can beat me?” Kent asks. “Who has more Cups there, Zimms?”

“You think this is about wins, Kenny? Let’s talk raw skill,” Jack says. “I’m Canadian, hockey is in my blood.”

“Then get out here and show me what you’ve got,” Kent says.

Jack grabs a puck that had been sitting on the boards. The two of them skate out to centre ice. Jack drops the puck and kicks it into place.

“I hope your face-offs have improved,” he chirps. “You’re about to find out why I have the best face-off percentage in the NHL.”

“Big words,” Kent says. “Your ego is writing cheques your body can’t cash.”

“Still haven’t seen that movie.”

“Top Gun’s a classic! How did you live in a frat house and not see it!” Kent demands but then he shakes his head. “You’re just trying to get into my head with your cultural cluelessness. You knew it was a quote so – _fuck_.”

Jack takes off down the ice. Kent chases after him but it’s too late. Jack slaps the puck right into the net with no competition.

“You cheated,” Kent accuses.

He skates in and hooks the puck out of the net. Jack does a little celebration off to the side just to annoy Kent further.

“One-nothing. Don’t be a sore loser because I got in your head,” Jack says.

“You’re on,Zimms.”

Kent brings the puck back to centre ice. When Jack arrives, they both crouch down, ready to go. They make eye contact and grins at Jack.

“Best birthday ever,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

Then Kent pokes the puck through Jack’s legs and zips around him to collect it. He laughs all the way down the ice.

 

XXXXX

 

**Sup Reddit, I’m Kent Parson Left Winger and Captain of the Las Vegas Aces. AMA!**

_(self.hockey)_

 

as promised on twitter here i am. heres my proof on: instagram and twitter. i finally have a little break since its the aces’ bye

 

_submitted 10 hours ago by pva0407_

 

_(5092 comments) (sorted by: top)_

 

[-] twitterlinkbot  _score hidden_ pinned post

from @kparsony90: going live on r/hockey in five minutes. im going to answer questions and probably be told how to play better hockey

 

[-] pva0407+ _1056_ 8 hours ago

alright guys that was a lot of fun! thanks for all your questions but i got a dinner to get to! hope you all watch the all-star game this weekend since im captain of the pacific division

 

[-] crobeez + _986_ 10 hours ago

Do you know HOW many times I almost banned you? The whole time, _Kent Freaking Parson_ was the troll people kept reporting. I do not get paid enough to be a mod here.

[-] pva0407 + _707_ 10 hours ago

my middle names vincent but whatever floats your boat man

[-] pva0407 +  _436_ 10 hours ago

it also means i know all the usual suspects here so this ama is going to be fun

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _235_ 6 hours ago

You’re not getting paid in the first place....

 

[-] ovioviovi + _892_ _9_ hours ago

WHAT DOES THE ‘V’ STAND FOR IN PVA END THE DEBATE

[-] pva0407 + _656_ 9 hours ago

fuck idk man it means i was pretty drunk when i made the account. maybe its vincent maybe its vegas. drunk kents mind is a mystery

[-] ovioviovi + _456_ 9 hours ago

Okay then what’s the ‘y’ in parsony?

                                       [-] pva0407 + _234_ 9 hours ago

                                       york. the n pulls double duty as the new and the last letter in my name

[-] providence24 + _107_ 8 hours ago

Schrodinger's username....

[-] crosbeez + _304_ 7 hours ago

You mean the debate that literally kicked off ten minutes after it was revealed who pva0407 was...?

[-] bennynjets08 + _145_ 9 hours ago

also why is the date before the month

[-] pva0407 + _347_ 9 hours ago

im basically an honourary canadian, except I don’t get to play for their national teams which really sucks since ive adopted all the little things americans hate about canadians (the u, poutine, how i write the date etc)

[-] bennynjets08 + _234_ 6 hours ago

As a Canadian, I whole-heartedly welcome you as one of us. All awesome hockey players are all secretly Canadian anyway

SOMEONE GET THIS MAN HIS GOLD MEDAL!

 

[-] vegasgold + _823_ 10 hours ago

2012 Playoffs. First Round, Game 7 against the Schooners. It’s second overtime and tied 2-2. You get on the ice. Tell me what happened next.

[-] pva0407+ _967_ 10 hours ago

that was a good game. i was gassed. it wasn’t my first time in the playoffs (ha. I didnt know the exhaustion to come). coach wanted me to recover my energy so i could get my speed back up. times almost up and were all thinking were going to third overtime. scraps looks at me and says ‘if you get a goal and we can go home, ill give you naming rights to my first born.’ challenge goddamn accepted. kent vincent parson junior oyer welcome to the world. troy and i get on the ice. i pull a little spin, steal the puck. pass to troy and he gets it down the ice. i cut across the front of the net and he passes back. i get a little wrist shot. boom in the net.

scraps tried to get me drunk enough to forget the deal he made (it didn’t work obvi) but man did we party. it was franchise history – first time into the second round. it was a hell of a night and i collapsed into a hotel bed at like 5 am dead tired. but was back at it 2 nights later (probably still hungover)

[-] vegasgold + _452_ 9 hours ago

I’m going to be telling my kids this story. Generations of Vegas fans need to know about this.

So Scraps’ baby??? You named her Daphne?

[-] pva0407 + _653_ 9 hours ago

haha no ari would’ve killed scraps and then me. i gave her the name scoobs and got her a little custom jersey (number 90 though). we almost had kent vincent parson junior oyer folks. scoobs is pretty damn adorable in her jersey though

 

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _799_ 10 hours ago

1\. first of all i’m very sorry about all the terrible things I said about you and zimmermann. I have seen the light. Looking back, our late night back and forths were really fun and you always managed to put me in my place

2\. what did you do for the off-season? Other than a well earned vacation?

[-] pva0407 + _891_ 10 hours ago

thanks man, but im still coming for that one-on-one

1\. trashed swoops car because he has a terrible idea of what’s a good car for a hockey player to buy. he bought a corolla! we didnt really trash it (other than metaphorically with our words), we just gave it to some sixteen year old

2\. took swoops shopping for a new car

3\. got a beach house in florida and chilled on the beach

4\. went on a trip down memory lane and kicked back in montreal

5\. cup shenanigans

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _634_ 10 hours ago

Can’t we just call it and say you won?

[-] pva0407 + _909_ 10 hours ago

no.

 

[-] bennynjets08 + _730_ 9 hours ago

Can we get an exclusive picture of Kit? Is she really as sweet as she looks??

[-] pva0407 + _872_ 9 hours ago

here you go from like 2 seconds ago and she’s a little princess i shouldve never made her an internet celebrity

[-] bennynjets08 + _432_ 9 hours ago

is she sleeping on Zimmermann?

[-] pva0407 + _576_ 9 hours ago

yes. hes her new favourite napping spot. traitors the both of them

 

[-] rivercitylove + _808 9_ hours ago

Since it’s basically confirmed Zimmermann is right there as we do this, can you ask him how he feels about the Falconers and moving to the Aces? I’m dying to know since he doesn’t talk about it ever

[-] pva0407+ _1001_ 9 hours ago

I loved playing for the Falconers and nothing is ever going to beat my first NHL team. I owe them a lot for giving me another shot in the Show. Honestly, I didn’t want to play for the Aces, they seemed like an arrogant team. It wasn’t the franchise I ever imagined myself donning a jersey for (other than the Leafs). But getting to know the team and playing with Kent again has been an amazing experience. I hated the situation for a long time, but I’ve never been happier. The guys and I are still friends and there’s no hard feelings, but I know I belong with the Aces, even if I couldn’t see it at first.

(straight from zimms fingers youre welcome because i had to explain to him what reddit is. also ow you wound me zimms thats my team youre hating on)

[-] falcsjimbo99 + _30_ 9 hours ago

So Zimmermann gets away with shitting on the Aces and I still have to play you one- on-one?

[-] pva0407 + _423_ 9 hours ago

buddy. its zimms. id let that guy get away with murder cause like he’s _my_ _zimms_

 

[-] providence24 + _685_ 10 hours ago

Can Zimmermann get a twitter already? I’d love to know his thoughts!

[-] pva0407 + _911_ 10 hours ago

he has an instagram but its just a bunch of sunsets, landscapes, and his college friends. hes not very good at pop culture and social media so instagram is easy because it doesnt require a caption. Tweet me your questions for zimms and ill ask him when hes around

[-] providence24 + _341_ 9 hours ago

what about snapchat?

[-] pva0407 + _712_ 9 hours ago

he has literally know idea what that is

update: one of his college friends has just informed me that until about three years ago zimms didn’t even know what instagram was

[-] thirdythird + _234_ 5hours ago

I have a feeling you don’t check zimmermann’s instagram very much because it looks like he has a new favourite subject....

 

 [-] taterhead + _607_ 10 hours ago

How’s the shoulder? Are you and Tater friends yet?

[-] pva0407 + _712_ 10 hours ago

it healed up nice. its like it never happened :)

unfortunately i dont think mashkov and i are ever going to be friends. he and zimms are buds again though. i dont think i do enough baking to make him like me

 

[-] mblyung + _555_ 10 hours ago

watching anything good rn?

[-] pva0407 + _624_ 10 hours ago

zimms and i are still watching friday night lights. we just started season 5 im not ready for it to be over

 

[-] crosbeez + _456_ 8hours ago

I didn’t technically ask a question before so here’s mine: the dudes in the NHL call you Parser but I’ve heard a lot of people refer to you as just Parse. Any reason/preference?

[-] pva0407 + _634_ 8 hours ago

parser is what they called me in the nhl, i didnt fight it even though i was parse in the q. if they wanted to add another syllable, its their choice to make it harder on themselves. zimms’ college buddies are the only people who still call me parse these days

 

[-] schoonseattle33 + _303_ 6 hours ago

I know it’s over but I gotta ask just in case: what’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you as a hockey player? NOT including Stanley Cups.

[-] pva0407 + _231_ 4 hours ago

easy. the day jack showed up to practice in an aces jersey

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I have one little thing left for this story, which is just a short collection of deleted scenes, which I removed for various reasons. Once I clean them up, I'll tack them on to the end of this fic. 
> 
> (I do have a few ideas about Jack and Kent in the Q as when writing this fic I became very attached to their relationship. Maybe I'll write them down.)


	5. Deleted Scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last little bit to this story!
> 
> A series of scenes I felt didn’t fit into the main body for various reasons. Mostly I felt they weren’t complete and more just snippets. I’ve included a little title and summary for context so it won’t be too hard to figure out where they belong on the timeline. 
> 
> Also I wanted to briefly go over why I chose 'winter wheat' as the title. The lyrics, to me, have reflected trying and failing but realizing that it's worth it to try again. While writing I was listening to the song and thought it perfectly encapsulated the overall theme of the fic. Particularly the lines 'salute the way we tried,' 'this crop withstood the months of snow,' and 'allow the hope that we will meet again out here in the winter wheat.'

**coffee meeting** – Kent & Jack talk face to face

 

Kent is unsure of what to expect walking into the small coffeeshop. He keeps his head low, sunglasses on and hat firmly in place. It’s not that he doesn’t mind being recognized – today is just one day he wants to keep a low profile. If things should turn ugly, Kent doesn’t want it plastered over social media before he even gets back to his hotel.

Scanning the place, Kent spots Jack tucked away at a back table. He’s dressed just as discretely, but the baseball cap isn’t pulled as low and he’s not wearing sunglasses. Momentarily taken aback, Kent needs a moment. It’s the first time in _years_ he has seen Jack outside of a hockey context. There’s no uniform or padding between them. Just Jack. Exposed. Likewise, Kent has nothing to hide behind – no helmet or visor to obscure his face. It’s the two of them alone. It frightens Kent and there’s a second where his entire body screams at him to run. He breaths and steadies himself.

Kent takes the opportunity to study Jack, getting some information on what he’s walking into. Jack’s face is buried in his phone, scrolling through something. The line of his shoulders is stiff and his jaw is tight – he’ll have a headache for that later. It’s clear Jack is stressed about being here, but that’s just an easy assumption. Jack’s anxiety often takes precedent.

In front of him are two coffees. A peace offering, perhaps. A double-double for the two of them, Kent assumes. The way it’s been for years. Shitty confirmed that, at least, hasn’t changed. It’s an absolute certainty things Kent once took for granted no longer exist. In some ways, Jack is a brand new person. (They’re strangers, Kent remembers. He came to terms with that one a few months ago.)

Kent wonders how long Jack has been waiting for. It’s not a long drive from Providence to Boston so Jack must have made good time. If Kent had to guess, he’d say Jack was considerably early. He tried to relax and arrive at a decent time (Kent texted Jack his flight had been delayed), but Jack’s anxiety wouldn’t allow it. The ridge of Jack’s furrowed brow speaks volumes about his stress levels.

“Sorry I’m late,” Kent says as he slips into the across seat from Jack.

Jack looks up from his phone, shoving it into his coat pocket. He does not smile.

“It’s fine,” Jack says. “Logan sucks.”

There’s no follow up. No little anecdote about a time Jack got held up at Logan, or how he prefers Providence’s far smaller airport. Kent has a good one about McCarran, but it tastes sour on his tongue. There’s no familiarity here. No opportunity to share meaningless little stories and just laugh.

“Yeah,” Kent agrees for a lack of anything better to say. “How was the drive up? You been here long?”

“Fine. Traffic was good. I haven’t been waiting long.”

Jack shuffles a little bit. He’s lying, but Kent can’t be sure about what. Kent stays ramrod straight in is chair. This is awkward as hell. Where should they start? Should they really get into it at a very public coffeeshop?

“I got you a coffee,” Jack says. “You still take it the same?”

Biting back a scoff, Kent nods. Shitty knew Kent takes his coffee the same as Jack. Therefore Jack has to know Kent still takes it the same. A painful way of creating distance.

“Double double,” Kent quips.

For a fraction of a second, the corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up. Who knows which memory he’s thinking about. Kent has a lot of them that involve coffee, hockey nicknames, and stupid teenage boys. Most of them good, some bad, a few reverently kept at the back of Kent’s mind.

(There’s a Tim Hortons drive through after a late night practice. Jack is in the driver’s seat and is struggling to get his wallet from his back pocket. The employee is annoyed, holding out a coffee for him. Kent laughs and leans over pressing a hand too high on Jack’s thigh. He takes the coffee. Jack’s pupils are blown wide. Kent has no shame. He grins and hands the employee a crumpled fiver from his own pocket.

“I got this one, Zimms,” Kent murmurs, mouth at Jack’s ear as he pulls away.

“Keep the change,” Jack musters, face bright red.

Jack guns it out of the drive through, forgetting his own coffee.)

“You looking forward to tomorrow’s game?” Jack asks. “The ‘Hawks are shaping up nicely.”

Kent shrugs. He’s looking forward to wiping the smug look of a certain American Right Winger he’s constantly compared to. Not that he’d tell Jack that. Why would he? How would Jack even respond? It would just trap them both in an unwinnable situation.

“Coach is pissed I flew out a day early,” Kent says.

“You benched?”

“Nah.”

“Good.”

Kent wants to demand what the hell that means. What is implies. He cannot even fathom where Jack is coming from. In this short interaction Kent can feel them veering off dangerously towards the cliff even with all of Kent’s precautions.

“Probably not starting, but I’ll get my time to play,” Kent says instead, shrugging.

Jack picks up his coffee and takes a tiny sip. He holds it to his mouth longer than necessary and Kent can immediately tell it’s empty. Jack hasbeen here for awhile. Taking his own cup, Kent bats it from hand to hand. It’s not cold, but it’s not hot either. To be polite he brings it to his mouth and takes a small drink. At least it still smells good.

The two of them sit there for some time, fiddling with their coffee cups and hands. No words are spoken between them. Kent is starting to get antsy from the silence. But he doesn’t know where to even begin. Troy was right, he should’ve thought this meeting through more. At least written down a topic or two they could cover after they went through greetings and a brief chat about hockey.

Well, they talked about Kent playing hockey. Kent isn’t touching last night’s Falconers-Leafs game with a ten foot pole. It was a fucking disaster. The Falconers couldn’t get their shit together. They lost miserably in 1-nothing game. To make matters worse it was the _Leafs._ Kent is pretty sure the motto of Canada is ‘Fuck the Leafs’ especially for diehard Habs fans, like the Zimmermanns. It must be hard for Jack, having to watch that shit show – still benched through contract mishaps.

“So,” Kent says. “Anything new?”

Jack snaps his head up. He looks Kent over, looking for a motive. Kent scowls at him. What the fuck does he expect Kent to do? Just sit there in silence before one of them has to leave? Jack needs to learn how conversations works.

“No.”

Not what Kent was expecting as a response. Anger flares up in him. He kicks his legs out and the chair screeches backwards.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kent demands.

“That’s not why we’re here,” Jack says. “We don’t do pleasantries and have coffee.”

 _We could,_ Kent wants to say. Again, he holds himself back. Mostly because the thought came so unbidden and out of a place Kent thought didn’t exist. Last week, _last night_ , Kent knew with absolute certainty he didn’t need Jack in his life. Then the moment they sit across from each other, the stupid little voice came back with a vengeance.

“Then are we just going to sit here, drinking cold coffee out of an empty cup?” Kent challenges.

Jack’s face goes pink. Embarrassed and angry. Here it comes. Get your cell phones out everyone, Zimmermann and Parson are about to have it out in a coffee shop in Boston. Kent can already hear the PR manager’s voice message (because as if he’s going to pick up).

“Why do you have to do that?” Jack asks.

Kent crosses his arms across his chest. So he’s definitely doing it on purpose now.

“Do what?” Kent asks.

“You’re so prickly and difficult,” Jack snaps. “Stop throwing up your walls and trying to wind me up. It’s not going to work.”

But it already has. Kent frowns, but he pulls his chair back in. Wrapping his hands around the coffee cup, Kent breaths a few times.

“Sorry,” he mutters and runs one hand through his hair. “This is really fucking hard, okay?”

“This isn’t a walk in the park for me either,” Jack says.

“Yeah,” Kent agrees. “I know. Look, we can’t just sit here and do nothing. It’s not going to work.”

“Then let’s do something,” Jack says. “I’ll start.”

“Jack Zimmermann, kicking off our feelings’ jam? Did I fall into a parallel universe?” Kent says.

He immediately snaps his mouth shut. Jack pales a bit. That’s a comment seventeen year old Kent would’ve made. It doesn’t fit here. Instead it’s just an insult instead of a friendly teasing comment.

“Shit, sorry. That was fucked up,” Kent says.

“Thanks,” Jack replies. “It’s going to be hard. Figuring out where to draw the lines.”

Kent winces. He knows where that one comes from.

“I guess I thought we should just have a conversation,” Jack says. “We don’t have to get into all the.. _stuff_ that happened. Just two people trying to reconnect.”

He gives a bit of a shy half smile. A million years ago, a boy in desperate need of a haircut pulled up with the same smile, offering Kent a ride home after practice and an escape from the rain. Kent forgot about that. The first step the two took to becoming Zimmermann-Parson. The Canadian hockey prodigy and the tiny American who had no place even being in the Q. What a mismatched duo they made.

Kent smiles back at him.

“And to reconnect we have to put some pieces back,” Jack says.

“Okay,” Kent agrees. “I like the sound of that. What should we start with?”

“I’m sorry for kicking you out of the Haus when you came to visit the first time,” Jack says.

“I’m sorry for even showing up, that was pretty dumb of me,” Kent says.

“Next time call first,” Jack says.

“Next time?” Kent says, surprised.

“I mean, not at Samwell since I’ve graduated,” Jack corrects. “Just a nebulous next time.”

“Next time,” Kent says testing the words on his lips. “I would like that.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **last run –** George and Jack go for a last run the day Jack gets offer sheeted.

Jack is glad he and George developed such a strong bond throughout these past few years. Otherwise this contract negotiation would’ve been absolute hell, rather than just an average hell. She’s probably one of his closest friends right now. He’s been confiding in her for years, their relationship moving beyond player and Front Office. Their friendship has undergone some strain, but they quickly established some ground rules. No talking shop during the morning runs.

Today, George meets Jack in front of his building. She’s there early with an easy smile, cheeks tinged from the morning chill. The cold of winter is starting.

“Morning, Jack,” she greets.

He smiles and she takes off down the street. These past few months have been difficult. Ever since Jack rejected the qualifying offer in October, things have been more than tense. He hasn’t seen much of the Falconers either, other than when he makes occasional visits to see the GM. There’s nothing more Jack wants than to be playing with the Falconers. Contract negotiations are absolutely brutal. Jack’s agent is advocating for him, but the Falconers are fighting him every step of the way.

George is annoyed by the whole situation. Her boss suggested numerous times she stop spending time with Jack, to maintain a more professional boundary. She stood her ground. She wasn’t going to share the secrets of the Front Office. But Jack knew she was advocating him for him, trying to get this ordeal wrapped up.

As a result, they don’t talk as much as they usually do on runs. Their normal topics are off limits. Hockey is the biggest common denominator and now that almost always leads to dangerous territory. Dating was a fun topic for a bit until George realized Jack has no interest in that right now. She probably was the only person on the team who wasn’t fully Team Bittle after the breakup.

They run the normal route, down Jack’s street and into a more rural area, and finally a nice little park. It’s scenic and beautiful. Jack likes Providence. Even though it’s no Montreal, there are still perks. The colours of Autumn are still going strong, but many of the fallen leaves have already been cleaned up. Many of the trees are already bare or getting there.

This morning, he doesn’t let up and allow George to take an early lead. She’s quick and when they aren’t talking, she often forgets herself and takes off. It’s been months and Jack is getting fed up with the silence. He keeps pace, searching for anything they could talk about.

“So I’ve been texting Kent a lot,” Jack says.

George turns her head to stare at him, eyes wide and caught off guard.

“As in Kent Parson, Captain of the Las Vegas Aces?”

“As in Kent, my former best friend,” Jack says, steering the conversation away from hockey.

The last thing he wants is for George to lose her job over a careless comment to him. George is very good at her job. A seasoned professional, George knows how to negotiate a deal and when not to speak. But it’s far too easy to get distracted during a run. Which is why they’ve generally opted for quiet.

“That’s an interesting decision,” she says. “Are you sure it’s a smart idea?”

“We’ve been texting back and forth since we met up in October,” Jack says.

“You met up?” George shouts in disbelief. “This is what happens when we don’t talk. You do stupid things apparently. Do I need to call Eric? He seemed to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

Jack laughs lightly. It’s to hide his discomfort. The last thing he needs is Bitty involved in his Kent related drama. Or lack thereof. Just Bitty and Kent together is a bad idea.

"I didn’t tell you? When I drove up to Boston to visit Shitty, I saw Kent too,” Jack says. “We had coffee and talked. It was weird.”

George sighs. She knows a thing or two about Jack and Kent. She demanded to know what was up after the first time they played each other. She needed to know if it would a continued problem – putting the team at risk. George stuck her neck out for Jack and didn’t need him kicking off a rivalry with one of the NHL’s darlings. Jack assured her it would be fine. Sure enough, things settled afterwards. He and Kent just became two players on the ice. On a slow news cycle, the media would kick up the rumours, but that’s about it.

“Of course it was weird,” George says. “I think ex-friends are worse than ex-boyfriends.”

How does Jack tell her Kent was both?

“But you’ve been talking,” George hedges. “And that’s been going...?”

“Well,” Jack says. “It’s very casual, surface stuff. Pictures of his cat, stories about his teammates.”

“What do you talk about?”

Jack shrugs. He mostly responds to Kent. His life isn’t exactly interesting between all the contract negotiations. He tries to balance things out, but he just can’t find stuff to tell Kent. It’s embarrassing to admit, but Jack doesn’t want to bore Kent. Everything in Las Vegas seems so exciting. Jack exists in sleepy Providence.

“You’re hopeless,” George says.

“I send pictures I take,” Jack says.

The leaves on the ground, the view of Jack’s apartment. Any pictures Jack is particularly fond or proud of, he sends Kent’s way. Kent always comments on something about them, often noticing the details Jack picked up on when taking the photo.

“It’s nice,” Jack says. “Normal. Better than talking face to face.”

“I don’t really think that qualifies as normal,” George says seriously.

“We don’t set each other off as much,” Jack says. “There’s time to edit and modify.”

“Yeah, totally normal. I take ten minutes to draft each text I send to my friends too,” George says.

“I know you don’t like it, but I like Kent now. He’s become a good person,” Jack says.

“I trust your judgement, Jack,” George says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Parson hurt you a lot before.”

“Yeah, I’m being careful,” Jack says.

He smiles.

“Good, now let’s finish this run. I’ve been slowing down for you and it’s ruining my time,” George says. “Loser buys breakfast!”

She takes off down the path, leaving Jack in her dust. He follows after her, keeping his own steady pace. He always buys breakfast, it’s just the routine.

The path through the woods is a circle and leads straight back to Jack’s place. Arriving in front of his building, George is standing there grinning. 

“Looks like you lose again, Zimmermann,” she says.

“One day,” Jack says.

“In your dreams. I was thinking pancakes for breakfast, what about you?”

Before Jack can answer, George’s phone goes off. The ringtone isn’t the normal one and she usually keeps it on silent during their runs. Her face gets serious as she excuses herself to answer. A special tone for emergencies.

He does his best not eavesdrop. George isn’t doing much talking. Mostly ‘okay’ and ‘I understand.’ Her shoulders tighten as the call wraps up.

“I’ll be there ASAP,” she says.

Shoving her phone into her sweater pocket, she turns to face Jack. Eyes flinty and mouth drawn, all friendliness is gone.

“DEFCON 1,” she says. “Sorry, no breakfast today. See you soon, Jack.”

She takes off down the street, in the direction of her own home. Jack stands a bit bereft for awhile. DEFCON 1 is bad news. Nuclear war imminent for the proper usage. He can’t even imagine what it means in terms of hockey.

Finally, Jack heads up to his apartment. He’s starving. At least today he won’t have to pay for breakfast. Some cereal instead of pancakes is a small sacrifice to pay.

His phone waits for him on the island counter. Jack doesn’t immediately check it, feeling no burning desire to plug in. He pours his cereal and reads a book on the Fall of the Soviet Union Lardo got him for his birthday. It’s a pleasant enough morning and Jack has almost entirely forgotten about George’s chilly departure by the time he’s done breakfast.

Grabbing his phone, Jack plans on scrolling through the undoubtedly long message chains from the numerous Samwell alumni group chats. You can’t take the frat out of the frat boy, even years after school it seems.

Instead there’s a series of missed calls from his agent and a handful of texts. Only a handful of words stand out. Jack’s phone falls out his hand and he stares blankly at the wall, unable to process exactly what it means. It takes a second before the hot rage rolls over him. The understanding of the situation comes all at once.

“ _Kent, tu esti,”_ Jack mutters. “ _Je vais te tuer.”_

He pauses and takes a breath. Jack’s head is spinning from all the anger. His hands are vibrating – his entire body is shaking. George’s phone call made sense early. Her look was one of betrayal. Especially since they were just talking about Kent. She thinks Jack conspired with Kent to make this happen. Bending over, Jack snatches his phone.

“ _Tabarnak,_ ”he snarls as he pulls up text conversation with Kent.

The last message was from Kent, last night. Kit is sleeping on his stomach but Jack never responded. He wanted to say ‘cute’ but decided against it. Who knows how it could’ve been misinterpreted. Without even thinking he jams into the onscreen keyboard, thoughts flooding out.

 

* * *

 

 **dinner** **party** – Jack has his friends over for dinner at his new place in Vegas.

 

Standing at the mirror in Jack’s bedroom, Kent smoothes down his button up. He’s not nervous. Not one bit. These are Jack’s friends, who liked him months ago when he and Jack were just friends. Surely they’ll continue liking him as Jack’s boyfriend. And Kent’s semi-desperate attempts to appear cool and disaffected for this dinner are not particularly working as he starts to unbutton the lavender shirt to go for the blue striped one.

“Just pick one,” Jack says.

He’s lying on the bed, partly dressed, texting with one of the aforementioned friends. Someone got lost on the way from their hotel and needs directions. Can’t they tell Kent is having his own crisis and needs Jack’s help too?

“Which one?” Kent asks.

“Why did you even bring so many shirts anyway? You looked fine when you arrived,” Jack says.

He sits up and looks from Kent to his overnight bag – mostly filled with various shirts. Jack raises an eyebrow and gives Kent a pointed look. Pulling off the lavender shirt, Kent throws it at Jack’s face so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore. Jack laughs as he pulls it off his head. Shoving the shirt back in the bag (Kent winces. Think of the _wrinkles!_ And he doesn’t have a fucking clue about how to use an iron _),_ Jack gets up and walks over to Kent.

“The blue one is nice,” Jack says.

He kisses Kent’s neck and smiles. Pulling the shirt on for the umpteenth time, Kent has to agree. It’s not nearly as formal as the others with the pattern. The blue brings out his own eyes and matches Jack’s. Kent likes it.

“Okay, now you,” Kent says. “You’re the host of this evening, you need to be well-dressed.”

“The guys know not to expect much from me,” Jack says. “I was just going to throw a sweater on or something.”

Kent shakes his head.

“You’re hopeless,” Kent says fondly.

“But you love it,” Jack replies.

“Yeah,” Kent agrees.

He turns his head to kiss Jack properly. It’s a more awkward angle but they make it work. Kent ends the kiss when the pain in his neck becomes too much to handle.

There’s a buzz heard around the apartment. Someone is here already. Jack pulls away to continue getting reading.

“That’s early,” Kent says.

“It’s Bitty,” Jack says. “I’ve told him the door is open. You should go give him a hand. He brought pies.”

“Of course he did,” Kent mutters.

It’s not that Kent doesn’t like Bittle. The problem is that he really likes Bittle. The man is so damn likeable. It just makes things weird he’s Jack’s incredibly likeable ex-boyfriend (and Kent’s the ex-boyfriend turned enemy turned friend turned boyfriend again). All of Jack’s friends love Bittle. And Bittle hates Kent’s guts. How will he feel knowing Kent and Jack are dating again?

Jack makes a face to match Kent’s.

“Don’t be like that,” Jack says.

“I’m not being like anything,” Kent says petulantly.

He folds his arms across his chest. Scowling, Jack starts moving the clothes around on his bed more aggressively. Kent doesn’t want to fight. Jack’s friends will smell blood in the water and pick Kent apart.

“I’m sorry,” Kent says. “It’s weird.”

“I know, but Bittle’s polite,” Jack says. “Southern hospitality and all.”

Kent sighs. _Canadians_. They don’t understand the American South at all.

“Just go make nice,” Jack says. “Please?”

“I can do that,” Kent says.

He smooths his shirt out one last time and tugs at his hair. Kent forgot all about his hair. If only it was acceptable for him to just throw a cap on and call it a day. Sighing, Kent accepts his lot in life and heads out of the bedroom to greet Bittle.

“Hey, Kenny,” Jack calls.

“Yeah?” Kent turns his head slightly to glimpse Jack out of the corner of his eyes.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Zimms.”

He grins uncontrollably as he makes his way to the door. The stupid smile is still there as he opens to the door to meet Bittle face to face. It disappears immediately.

“Oh, hello, Parse,” Bittle says, clearly caught off guard. “I thought Jack would be here.”

“He is,” Kent says. “He’s just getting dressed. You know what a process that is for him.”

“Yeah, it sure is,” Bittle agrees.

They stand there uncomfortably for a few seconds. Finally Kent gives himself a little kick and pushes himself into host mode.

“I’ll take those pies to the kitchen,” Kent offers, putting his arms out.

“It’s fine, just show me where to put them,” Bittle replies.

He pulls the pies ever so slightly out of Kent’s reach. As if Kent could taint the pies or something. Running his hands through his hair, all good feelings gone, Kent plasters a tight smile on his face. He holds the door open for Bittle, letting him into the apartment.

Not for the first time, Kent wishes he would’ve advocated more to invite Jack’s friends from the Aces – let both of his circles meld together. That way Kent would’ve had backup, people he knew supported him. But Jack put his foot down. Maybe one day. This get together is for Jack’s Samwell friends. To show them how well Jack is acclimatizing to his life in Vegas. (Though Jack has owned this apartment for over half a year, it’s been difficult organizing everyone.)

The apartment has an open layout, much like Jack’s old place in Providence (according to Mrs. Zimmermann who picked a similar one on purpose). So Kent pointing out the kitchen is mostly useless. Bittle still quietly thanks him and walks over to set the boxes of pies down on the counter. Afterwards, he lingers in the kitchen.

“You can take a look around,” Kent says. “Jack won’t mind.”

Bittle gives him an inscrutable look. Kent looks away and moves over to the living room. He pretends to study the photos on the shelf, like he hasn’t seen them a million times. Feeling exposed, Kent folds into himself. Perhaps he should stop being so familiar with Jack’s apartment? They don’t spend every moment with each other, staying at each other’s place, but Kent has a sense of belonging here. Knows Jack has a space for him. With Bittle here, Kent feels displaced.

“I thought is was just going to be a Samwell thing,” Bitty says.

At some point he moved across the room, standing in the living room with Kent. Apparently he took Kent up on his offer, as Bittle studies the photos. The Zimmermann family, Samwell, Kent. They all mix together here. Jack’s life story on display, if you read it right.

“Yeah, uh, Jack said it be cool if I came,” Kent says. “I like the guys.”

Bittle hums. It’s a neutral noise as he keeps all his cards close to his chest. Kent wonders if Bitty has tried his luck at a casino yet. Bittle has one hell of a poker face.

They stand in silence. Kent wonders what the hell Jack is doing in his bedroom. It should not take this long to get dressed. He quietly pleads for god to take mercy on him and have a third person to show up and act as a buffer.

“Where’s that?” Bittle asks. “It’s nice.”

He points to the painting sitting above the mantle. Where one might but a television, Jack put a painting.

“Old Montreal at Winter,” Kent says.

“To remind Jack of home,” Bittle assumes.

“Yeah Mrs. Zimemrmann brought it up when he made the move to Vegas,” Kent explains. “It was hung up in his bedroom in Montreal.”

“I don’t remember seeing it,” Bittle says. “I would’ve remembered this. It’s beautiful.”

“It was there when we were teenagers,” Kent says.

He feels like he’s floundering. Like Bittle called him out on a lie. But Bittle is right, you wouldn’t forget this painting. Kent was at the Zimmermanns’ only a handful of months ago, but he could never bring himself to cross the threshold of Jack’s childhood bedroom. He stuck to his guest room, chasing away the ghosts. Everything between them was still new and so raw, the two of them taking careful steps around the past. Kent would’ve never noticed if the painting was gone because he never took that chance.

“It must have been moved,” Bittle says. “Shame. It really ties the room together.”

Kent nods in agreement. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. Bittle’s shoulders tightened ever so slightly when Kent mentioned his youth with Jack. It was an equally terrible and wonderful time. No doubt Bittle knows a thing or two about it.

Bittle takes a deep breath. Kent prepares for whatever comes next. It’s a complete unknown. Bittle has always been an enigma to Kent.

“So you and Jack, huh?” Bittle asks.

Kent does a double take. He tries to school his shocked expression. Out of everything – that is not something he could’ve predicted. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Kent tries to play it off.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Kent says coolly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Parson,” Bittle says. “You’re all over this apartment.”

Kent looks around, trying to see what Bittle sees. It just looks like Jack’s apartment. Neatly and carefully designed by Mrs. Zimmermann. Nothing seems to be particularly out of place.

“That’s your Aces’ sweater,” Bittle points to the offending clothing article slung over the back of the couch. “The photos of you and Jack. The notes on the fridge on meal planning, what Jack needs to pick up from the store.”

“Fair enough,” Kent says. “I spend a lot of time here. We’re friends.”

“Uh huh,” Bittle says, unconvinced.

Kent’s mouth is dry. Where the hell is Jack when he needs him? Someone to distract Bittle from his crusade.

“Look, I just don’t want you to hurt Jack,” Bittle says. “He’s happy, he’s healthy. He’s very important to me and I would hate for him to lose everything he’s worked for.”

“He’s important to me too, Bittle,” Kent says. “I would never put us on that path again.”

“The path to Hell is paved with good intentions,” Bittle intones.

“I don’t know what I need to say to you to convince you everything’s going well between us,” Kent says. “That we’re better than before and not stupid teenagers who can’t communicate. If something is bad, we talk about it.”

Bittle studies him briefly.

“Good,” Bittle says. “That puts my heart at ease knowing you know.”

All the tension seeps out of the room. Kent laughs a bit. He’s feeling somewhat manic right now. Bittle saw right thought him and Kent very willingly exposed his soul. He can’t even find himself annoyed with Bittle’s backhanded compliments.

“Jack sure loves Montreal,” Bittle says. “I have to admit, I don’t see the appeal of the city.”

“I didn’t either, at first,” Kent says. “But it’s an easy place to fall in love with.”

“You spent a lot of time there,” Bittle says.

It’s a statement, but Kent help but read the accusatory tone. He doesn't know what Bittle is implying. _Why_ he’s even implying anything. Kent spent all the time he could in Montreal with the Zimmermanns, pretending his life in New York didn’t exist. From the rarely used guest bedroom to a place at the dinner table, Montreal is Kent’s home.

“Yeah,” Kent says. “Jack and I use to drive down from Rimouski ever chance we got.”

“Jack use to say he wants to play for Montreal some day. Do you think there’s a chance he still could?” Bittle asks.

“I mean it’s not out of the realm of the possibilities. When his contract ends, he’ll be pretty old for an NHL player and the Aces might try to trade him for some new talent,” Kent says. “If the Habs continue like they are, they’d take Zimms – old or not.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll probably retire an Ace. It would feel wrong wearing any other jersey.”

“Like Jack in a Leafs jersey,” Bittle says.

Kent laughs.

“Yeah exactly,” he agrees. “Have you ever seen Jack’s copy of the _Hockey Sweater_?”

Bittle shakes his head.

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“It’s an old kid’s book that his dad use to read him every night before bed. Jack loves it. It was about a kid whose mom bought him a Leafs sweater instead of a Habs one.”

“Fitting.”

“Yeah. The day before the Draft, Mr. Zimmermann presented Jack with a new copy. He wrote a note, I don’t think Jack could appreciate it at the time,” Kent says.

“What did it say?” Bittle asks.

“I was getting there. It’s just taking a moment for me to translate it in my head,” Kent says.

“Sorry,” Bittle says sheepishly.

“ _Je porterais un chandail de hockey de_ _l_ _eafs pour toi. Je suis plus fier de toi que tu connais,”_ Kent says. “I would wear a Leafs’ sweater for you. I am more proud of you than you know.”

“For Bob that’s a pretty serious thing to say,” Bittle says.

“Exactly. It doesn’t matter where Jack plays, he’s got everyone behind him,” Kent says. “If he plays for the Habs, awesome. If he plays for the Leafs, we’ll still cheer him on. The Leafs’ kit is pretty sweet, but don’t let Jack hear me say that.”

Bittle mimes zipping his lips. Kent can’t help but smile even though he has no idea if Bittle truly means it. It’s also the moment Jack finally decides to appear. Kent rolls his eyes. Somehow Jack has a supernatural sense to avoid drama.

“Hey Bits, I hope you’re not giving Kent too much trouble,” Jack says.

“Oh you know Jack, just giving him the usual,” Bittle says smiling. “You look nice. I like the blazer. Who picked it?”

He leaves Kent’s side and over to Jack. Kent turns and meets Jack’s eyes over Bittle’s head. He manages a smile before turning away. Bittle and Jack can have their conversation.

“Scraps took me shopping,” Jack says. “He said my wardrobe make him physically ill.”

Bittle laughs.

“When is everyone else is getting here?”

“Rans got him and Holster lost,” Jack says. “I’ve sent Shitty and Lardo to rescue them.”

“I told them to just take a cab, but the two were dead set on renting a car,” Bittle sighs.

Kent takes a seat on the couch and pulls on his phone. For the next thirty minutes he tunes out Bittle and Jack by scrolling through Twitter. At some point, the apartment erupts with energy when the others arrive simultaneously. There’s a cacophony of greetings and Kent is very quickly pulled into the group.

With everyone there, it’s chaotic and Kent puts the awkward visit he had with Bittle into the back of his mind. No one pays him too much attention, not directly calling him out like Bittle did. But Kent involves himself into the conversations when necessary. Mostly he enjoys listening to the stories of Samwell. That was Jack’s place, where he recovered and Kent was non-existent. It’s nice Jack has allowed Kent to finally learn about his time there.

It’s a great time. Kent feels a little pang he’ll never get to experience college culture. The former Samwell team gives him a taste, but he’ll never understand what it’s truly like.

At the end of the night, everyone files out. No one comments on Kent lingering behind, cleaning up after them. They wish Jack a good night, wishing him good luck for tomorrow’s game and making plans to meet up afterwards. Bitty leaves with Ransom and Holster, hitching a ride back to the hotel. Shitty lingers the longest and he and Jack have a primarily silent conversation before he leaves. They both laugh at the end, so Kent can only assume is was good.

The door closes and Jack sighs happily.

“That went well,” he says proudly.

“So next time we can invite the Aces,” Kent says. “That will be a real party.”

“We’ll have it at your place,” Jack suggests. “Too much of a mess to clean up.”

He yawns as he drops down on the couch. Kent continues to clean up. Well pick things up and put them in the sink. There’s no real desire to wash them. Just throwing out garbage and clearing the surfaces.

“My place is bigger anyway,” Kent replies cheekily.

Jack rolls his eyes and grabs Kent as he passes by the couch, pulling him down. They easily arrange themselves into a comfortable position. Like two puzzle pieces, they always match. Burying his face into Kent’s hair, Jack takes a deep breath. Kent can feel him smile.

“Thanks,” Jack mumbles.

“What for?”

“Being you. Being good with my friends, even though Bits gave you the shakedown.”

“For a little guy, he’s pretty scary.”

Jack starts laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Kent protests. “Bittle’s terrifying. More than once I thought he was going to throw down or something.”

“Whatever you said to him, impressed him,” Jack says. “I think you’re working your way onto his good side.”

“It’s easy to bond over you,” Kent says.

“I’m sure you have other interests,” Jack says.

Kent makes a face.

“Not really. He has terrible taste in NHL teams.”

“At least he doesn’t think the Leafs’ jersey looks nice.”

“Wow, traitor,” Kent mutters. “I thought we bonded or some shit.”

“Don’t worry, I still love you,” Jack teases.

Kent kisses him to wipe the smug grin off of Jack’s face. Sue him alright? The old school maple leaf looks cool.

“I should head home,” Kent says. “Tomorrow is a game day.”

“Stay, just this once,” Jack says.

He twists his hands into Kent’s.

“You know the rules,” Kent says. “Not that I don’t love you, Zimms, but we’re both superstitious about game day.”

“I’ll behave,” Jack says. “And we’ll get up early and go to your apartment to see Kit. We won’t even be late for the morning skate.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Kent says.

Twist his rubber arm. It’s not that it’s a strict rule they can’t sleep over the night before a game, it’s just they have diverging schedules. And Kent’s always felt strongly about no sex the night before a game. He also needs to pet his cat. Kit has been an integral part of the routine for years. Jack has a slow morning – no run and a borderline late arrival to the arena.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes,” Kent says. “But you have to wash the dishes.”

Jack kisses him, grinning. They both know Kent wasn’t going to wash them anyway.

 

* * *

 

 **memory lane** – Jack and Kent go through their respective boxes

 

Kent arrives at Jack’s apartment with a familiar moving box in his arms. He’s all smiles as he lets himself into Jack’s apartment, announcing today is the day they go through their Boxes.

“I’ve already gone through yours,” Jack points out.

“But we haven’t done it together,” Kent says. “We can reminisce and stuff. I want to see what’s in your ‘I Hate Kent Parson’ box.”

“Don’t call it that,” Jack says. “It’s more than that.”

“Fair enough,” Kent says. “Just go get it.”

Following Kent’s instruction, Jack fetches the shoebox from his closet. His is considerably smaller than Kent’s, holding only a few stacks of photos and a couple of postcards from Kent when he was in New York. Kent needed the moving box since his held his jersey and awards from the Q. Jack’s are back in Montreal, safely stored in the basement. However, after Jack’s suggestion, Kent has hung his Rimouski jersey up and displayed his awards. Jack should consider doing the same. It would only be fair.

Returning to the living room, Kent has made himself at home. He’s pulled the contents out of the box and spread it across Jack’s coffee table. Jack grabs the footstool from the armchair and puts across from the couch, taking a seat opposite to Kent. Placing the box carefully on the corner of table, Jack waits for Kent to sort his things out. There’s no need to mix their memories up.

“Remember when we had the roadie to Moncton and I got sick on the ride to PEI?” Kent asks. “That bridge did not do it for me.”

Kent holds up an ‘I heart PEI’ shirt he purchased after he puked all over his. His original shirt ended up in a trash bin somewhere after another teammate started complaining about the smell. It was stupid of them to even spend their limited free time going to PEI when they would be travelling to Charlottetown for a game in a few days.

“You threw up all over my pants,” Jack says.

“Not my fault you shoved us into the bathroom when I told you I was going to be sick,” Kent laughs.

They were basically unsupervised for the entire day. A handful of teammates were trying to edge in on their free time. They were both learning what it was like to have someone who they could just make out with whenever they wanted. Taking the first opportunity available to him, Jack pulled Kent away from the group. It just so happened to be a bathroom. Kent said he was sick, they made out anyway, and then Kent promptly vomited on Jack’s pants and on his own shirt.

“That didn’t really help with the rumours,” Jack says.

Kent shrugs. The rumours always washed over him easily. Jack found it far more difficult to put them to the back of his mind. Still does.

"What about this one?” Kent asks as he holds up a poster from Canadian National Exhibition.

“Mom took us before the season started,” Jack says. “You threw up again. This time not on me.”

“I have a weak stomach,” Kent says. “I won you a stuffed bear and you gave it away to a girl who ran out of tickets.”

“And the next day we went to the top of the CN Tower,” Jack says. “Did you throw up then too?”

“Nah,” Kent says. “I had good reason not to. You said you wouldn’t kiss me.”

Time passes quickly as they sort through the pictures and various items Kent has collected during his time in the Q. A quick anecdote or two accompanies most of them. Sometimes a deeper story, if it was more meaningful. Many are repeats, from their two years together as they travelled through eastern Canada.

At the end of Kent’s box, he’s pulled aside a few photos worthy of framing. If it were several years ago, Bittle would be right there to suggest scrapbooking. Personally, Jack thinks these photos deserve a better home than a poorly aging box with crude Quebecois curses on it buried in one of Kent’s closets. Kent isn’t the type of person to create albums so Jack will have to settle for the handful Kent has chosen to free from their prison.

The first is from the CNE, taken by Jack’s mom. (Her familiar loopy writing is on the back: _Jack and Kent, Toronto Trip Summer 2008)._ He and Kent are on the ferris wheel, Kent is clearly talking about something (probably hockey) while Jack just listens, a small smile on his face. Neither of them were aware of the camera. Jack didn’t even know the picture existed until that moment. Kent mumbles something about Alicia giving it to him shortly after the Draft.

The second is Kent’s professional photo for the team for the 2007-08 season. He’s on the ice, hair slicked back (slightly wet from sweat), and he’s grinning at the camera with the all-knowing, shit-eating grin that got him pinned down as a hotshot in his first week. He looks so young in the picture with his grey-blue eyes reflecting the ice. Jack teases Kent about the bit of acne he had, but he really has no place to talk.

Opening Jack’s box, there’s far less. They don’t take nearly the same amount of time to go through it. Mostly it’s Jack reading Kent’s melodramatic postcards from New York back to him. Kent kicks him playfully, cheeks pink. The postcards are sweet, but memorialize Kent’s immaturity.

At the very bottom of the box is probably one of the last photos Jack and Kent ever took together. After they won the Memorial Cup and before the Draft. The memories immortalized as perfect in Jack’s mind, even if they weren’t. Things were simple before the Draft. Easier. So Jack’s mind made the memories perfect.

(Not counting the two on the day of the Draft. Both by Alicia – one as they left the Zimmermann’s house all nice and tidy in their suits. Kent smiled, Jack looked pale, sickly. And then the one at Bell Centre. Kent is again, bright, warm. Jack’s mouth is drawn and he’s serious.

He can barely remember the day itself. Much of it a blur, Jack’s vacillating numbness and anxiety and plummeting despair making it difficult to create a coherent picture. Jack remembers _hating_ Kent, hating everything about him. He can’t even remember Kent’s name being called – the ringing in his ears as he realized he wasn’t first. The only memories Jack has of the Draft are falsified, from a third person view as he watched news clips after news clip. The clearest is his own face as Kent’s name is called. It’s the last thing he remembers before waking up in the hospital.)

Kent makes a small sound as he reverently pulls it from the box. He has a wry smile on his face, clearly reliving the day. Getting up, Jack moves to the couch with Kent.

“Your mom’s birthday,” Kent says. “That was a fun one. You remember we were fighting that day?”

In the picture, the two of them are smiling brightly. Kent’s got his arm thrown around Jack’s shoulders and Jack’s arm is around Kent’s waist. They are both dressed to the nines for a fancy dinner party. Jack’s crisp suit perfectly tailored and Kent’s ill-fitting. Bob announced that night they were getting new suits for the Draft, when Kent protested about the cost – Bob insisted. A gift. For winning the Memorial Cup or getting to the Draft, Bob never clarified. Jack is sure it never really sat well in Kent’s mind regardless.

Jack laughs and shakes his head. Kent offers the photo and Jack delicately takes it.

“You drank too much the night before. Even though we had a six hour drive from Rimouski,” Jack says. “You were hungover as hell and threw up at least four times on the way.”

“Not my fault you drive like a maniac,” Kent says. “And if I recall, you wanted to go to that party. I thought we should’ve left the day before, so we weren’t arriving feeling like shit to your mom’s birthday.”

“I said we should pop in since it was the last party with the team before we went our separate ways for the summer,” Jack says. “You took that as let’s get fucked up.”

“Collins thought I was a lightweight, I had to prove him wrong.”

“You are a lightweight,” Jack says, rolling his eyes.

Kent gently shoves him.

“You still took care of me, though,” Kent murmurs.

“Yeah,” Jack whispers.

They didn’t make it back to Kent’s billet home. He was all packed up anyway; his belongings a suitcase, a hockey bag, and two small boxes. Kent had said his goodbyes and thrown everything into Jack’s car – fully expecting to be in Montreal that day. Instead they crashed one last night with Jack’s billet family.

Kent took the bed, throwing the covers off of him and Jack took extra care to clear a path to the bathroom. But Kent had demanded they share the bed. Despite Jack’s better judgement, he got tangled up with Kent in the bed. By some miracle Kent didn’t vomit (just the next day). He did fidget a lot and both had a restless sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Kent says. “I guess I’m never going to run out of apologies.”

“It’s fine,” Jack replies easily. “I had a good time at the party.”

It’s a fun memory. A warm one of two stupid teenagers. There’s no harm in it. Even if the car ride was deathly silent for six hours, punctuated only by Kent’s warnings that Jack needed to pull over.

“Mom’s birthday was still fun,” Jack says. “Just the four of us. We got to be real that night.”

“We sure did,” Kent agrees. “Got to pretend my not really boyfriend slash best friend was actually my boyfriend for the night.”

“I was still so mad though,” Jack says.

“Probably because the car smelled like puke,” Kent says.

“You owe me a carwash for that, by the way.”

“Really Zimms?”

“You never dealt with it. My dad took it in,” Jack says. “I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it.”

“Okay Zimms, carwashes are on me for the rest of your life,” Kent says. “If, god forbid, we stop talking I’ll still send you money for a carwash once a month.”

“I’m holding you to it,” Jack says.

“I know you will,” Kent says. “So what are you going to do with the photos? I know it’s killing you I’m just keeping mine in the box.”

Jack shrugs. He has a few ideas for the photos in his box. Spice up his apartment with some personality for one. Maybe tease a few on Instagram, like Kent has already done on Snapchat. He’d like to put together some sort of album. After taking his photography class, Jack has a deeper fondness for his photographs. They are mean to be seen and displayed. Part of him thinks it’ll help picking out the good parts of their time in the Q and not just when they were bad for each other. (Which wasn’t that often, it just had more dramatic effects than when they were good for each other.)

He looks back at young Jack and Kent smiling up at him. It’s a good photo with a story behind it. One can see from the bags beneath both their eyes. People will talk about what happened. Want Jack to tell them. However, Jack wants to keep that to himself. The magic of the evening where they just got to _be._ Even captured in a picture, it’s still something personal.

“I think I’ll frame this one and put it in the bedroom,” Jack says. “I don’t have any photos in there.”

“That’s a good idea,” Kent says. “That’s like the most I’ve ever heard you put into interior decorating.”

Jack knocks his knee against Kent’s.

“I think I need a carwash,” Jack says. “Or four since I let Swoops store his hockey bag in my car.”

“You think I’m messy? Swoops doesn’t do laundry,” Kent says wrinkling his nose. “I could’ve warned you.”

Jack leans over and kisses Kent before carefully putting all the photos in the box. There’s a little weight lifted from his shoulders. Remembering the Q wasn’t bad or triggering. In fact it brought to light it was mostly good times, shaded by bad. He and Kent were friends and good for each other, especially in the early days. It was mostly as the Draft closed in and Jack internalized everything and Kent ignored the issues did things get ugly.

They don’t have to be afraid of the past. Even if it hurt them. Examining the past will help them look forward to the future. The one they have together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope to add more to this 'verse one day, but I have a handful of other projects I want to finish first.


End file.
